


Stories We Never Tell

by ashes0909



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abusive Obadiah Stane, Alpha Obadiah Stane, Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Forced Artificial Knotting, Forced Medical Procedure, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Omega Tony Stark, Protective Steve Rogers, Referenced Obadiah Stane/Tony Stark - Freeform, Secret Identity, Secrets, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-02-22 10:56:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22581721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashes0909/pseuds/ashes0909
Summary: One could argue, it was none of Steve’s business. The omega was obviously bonded to the alpha, even if the bond was one-way. That bite was all society needed to overlook the transgressions that Steve had witnessed on the sidewalk. But Steve wasn’t society, and waking up decades in the future, he’d been disappointed by what had changed and what had very much stayed the same.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 535
Kudos: 1033
Collections: Marvel Trumps Hate 2018





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LCottontail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LCottontail/gifts).



> This is my second 2018 MTH fic, written for LCottontail. I hope you like it! The themes are darker than my usual fic, so please mind the tags. 
> 
> Thank you ferret for betaing <3
> 
> I plan on updating every other Wednesday.

Steve remembered it perfectly. It was a sunny day, the sky so blue and the sun so high that it bounced off the line of bruises around Tony’s neck. At the time, he wasn’t Tony to Steve, he was a nameless stranger, a mop of messy brown hair, eyes cast low but chin still fighting to inch higher. From across the street, the bruises appeared to be a collar but as he moved closer, the sour scent of distressed omega made Steve look more carefully. 

He stopped in his tracks, would’ve dropped his grocery bags if they weren’t clinging over his shoulder. The alpha was on the phone and had stopped as well, pacing and yelling into the speaker, bits of angry spittle catching Steve’s eye. The omega’s bond bite looked fresh and infected. There was no partner bite on the alpha’s neck. 

“--the deal was set! Fifty thousand units for three mill.” A pause, then the man turned red. “No! Do you know who I am? I may be one member of the board but the rest of the Stark Industries execs will toe whatever line _I_ set, do you hear me?”

The omega had wandered over to a window, looking at the suited mannequins and Steve could see his blank expression. 

With another shout, the man hung up the phone and turned to the omega. It was like all the anger from his phone call played on his face and transferred its focus onto the omega. He grabbed his arm, jolting him away from the window so he could face him, his other hand snapping over his throat. Steve stepped forward, but before he could say anything, the man dropped his hand and pivoted towards Steve. “Can I help you?” he sneered, clearly showing what type of help he was willing to offer in the curl of his upper lip. 

“Well, yes--” Steve began.

“Sir, we need to go.” It was the first words he heard from the younger man, whispered under his breath and aimed to the floor. The alpha gritted his teeth, but still kept his gaze on Steve. Down the street, the noon bells began to chime, ultimately breaking their standoff.

“We’re late,” The alpha spat over his shoulder. “This is your fault, Tony.”

Tony hung his head, and nodded. 

Steve wanted to protest on his behalf, started to, because Steve had seen it all--the alpha stopping them to take his call, the omega waiting patiently by the window--their tardiness hadn’t been his fault, and even if it had.... But the look in Tony’s expression made it seem like he was used to being pinned with the blame, and with it-- By the sight of the bruises on his skin, Steve didn’t want to know what would happen next. 

He had to help this omega. Had to help Tony. 

The alpha had a firm hold on his arm, though and by the time Steve thought of something to say, something involving the authorities and omegas' rights, the alpha was dragging the younger man down the street and out of sight. 

Steve stood on the sidewalk, stunned.

~~~

One could argue, it was none of Steve’s business. The omega was obviously bonded to the alpha, even if the bond was one-way. That bite was all society needed to overlook the transgressions that Steve had witnessed on the sidewalk. But Steve wasn’t society, and waking up decades in the future, he’d been disappointed by what had changed and what had very much stayed the same. 

A one-way bond was enough to tie an omega and all his assets to an alpha for the rest of their lives. There were some protections in place if another alpha was to touch the omega, but for his own alpha? There was little legal recourse. 

That first evening, Steve tried to push thoughts of Tony away, but his shame and self-disappointment bubbled over the next twenty four hours and by the following day, he was researching. 

They were obviously well off. The bruises on Tony’s neck had matched the dark navy suit he’d been wearing. The alpha’s watch probably cost more than Steve's SHIELD-issued apartment. 

There hadn’t been many amenities when he’d first moved in but after two years the apartment reflected Steve Rogers more. His dining room table was half mission report, half art studio, the fridge was stocked and the large laptop with a standard sized keyboard sat on the coffee table. 

He had no idea who the pair were but he knew enough to know that he could find them on the internet. He knew the omega’s name was Tony and that the alpha was on the board of a company named Stark Industries. A company he wasn’t completely unfamiliar with, but by no means knew the inner workings of. With a couple strokes of the keyboard, he discovered there were seven people on the board and each one had a corresponding photo. 

Obadiah Stane. 

Reading the name made Steve’s jaw clench. It seared into his memory in bolded, angry red. His mind provided a loop of the man gripping Tony’s throat. In his mind, he stepped forward. In his mind, he pulled the man’s arm away or he got in between them both, or he ripped his hand straight off his wrist. Steve could do it, the serum had given him the ability. 

Obadiah Stane. 

Another name shone, light blue and cursive in his mind, overriding the other with its presence: _Tony._

Something twisted in Steve’s stomach when he typed Tony’s name next to Obadiah Stane’s but he needed to do it to get his search results. The twisting stopped like the precipice of a roller coaster and dropped when the webpage loaded. 

Tony Stark. 

Steve closed the laptop; he knew everything it’d tell him about Tony Stark, knew more even...except. The SHIELD file on the Stark Family contained the most information on Howard. He was a founder, a former acquaintance of Steve. It had the least on Maria, a bit on Mr. Jarvis, and then there was Tony. He’d memorized the file like he memorized anything else he turned his eidetic memory to, but that photograph of a twenty one year old, recently orphaned Tony looked absolutely nothing like the weak and withering man he’d seen on the street. His cheeks had hollowed out, his skin turned a muted beige, with purple, sunken eyes. The bruises… 

It had only been three years since that photo was taken. Three horrific years, for Tony Stark. 

_Why hasn't someone done something?_ The rage was back. Steve opened the laptop again, having to hold back from ripping it into two, useless, pieces, and started his search for an answer to that question. 

~~~

The first thing Steve thought of when he woke was of the ring of purple bruises around Tony’s neck. Maybe he’d been dreaming about injured skin, about Tony; it made sense, considering how often the man was on his mind in the days since he’d first seen him on the street. 

More than once, he considered picking up the phone and calling Fury, demanding that SHIELD intervene. And he would’ve, if not for a nagging feeling that Fury would be interested, more than interested, in adding the Stark omega to his collection of assets. A direct line to all that weaponry, to all the company’s connections--Steve didn’t trust him not to use it all to his advantage. Would Fury treat Tony better than Stane? Of that, Steve had no doubt. But Tony would still be under his control, and something about that stilled him before he made the call. 

But his worry didn’t cease; if anything it intensified. He sought out signs of the invisible Stark anywhere. He wasn’t on social media and other than official Stark webpages and a byline in Howard Stark’s Wikipedia page, the young man was generally kept hidden. 

That discovery only reinforced Steve’s concerns. 

That afternoon, energy buzzing under his skin, Steve went for a walk. His feet naturally led him to the sidewalk where he first saw Tony. The suits in the windows had changed, and he found himself wondering what Tony’s opinions on the clothing would be, if anyone had even asked him his opinion on what he wore or if his Alpha decided everything. 

He knew he was walking in the direction of Stark Tower, and that he had no plan, only seething, red tunnel vision, but at this point Steve didn’t care. He was going to be consumed by Tony Stark anyway, he might as well be physically near him too. Plus, there was the most important factor to consider, the one he’d been pushing to the back of his mind: he was Captain America, and rushing into that building, finding Tony Stark, and removing him would be _easy._

But with that way came consequences, ones that would be bad for him but, more importantly, horrible for Tony. Especially if something went wrong.

Steve stood in front of the skyscraper and tilted his head up so he could see the top of it, barely visible on the cloudy day. 

No, breaking down doors and carrying off Tony wasn’t how he was going to be able to work this. He had to be quiet. He dropped his gaze from the tower to the alley that wrapped around the northern side of it. If only he could see him, talk to him, if he knew that Steve was able to keep him safe then maybe he could help turn the sour twist of his scent from its rancid state to something lighter. All he had to do was say the word. 

A door opened midway down the alley. A man and woman dressed in catering attire pulled out their newfangled vape pens, standing on the stairs, door wide open. 

A plan formed. Steve walked into the alley, pulling out his phone and keeping his focus on the screen as he approached the wait staff. He stopped near them, eyes on the phone, pressing buttons and sighing loudly. 

“Can we help you?” the man asked, friendly and somewhat curious. Exactly what Steve was hoping for. 

Steve grinned apologetically and lifted his phone. “Looking for my sister’s work. Something Tower. Stork or--”

“Stark?”

Steve nodded, pointing at the woman who had cut him off. “Exactly that. She started on the cleaning crew and left her wallet at home. I dropped her off but she needs it to get on the train.”

“I’m sure you can leave it at the front desk,” the woman replied. “Right around the corner there.”

Steve thought quickly. Going through the front door was not his ideal plan. “They’ll probably call the head of the cleaning crew then, yeah?” Steve shuffled his feet, rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s already on his bad side, and I don’t know how he’d feel about her forgetting not only her MetroCard but also her work ID.”

The guy blew a hiss through his teeth. “Yeah, they’ve been cracking down on that lately.” Steve blessed his luck. They stepped back, letting him have an open path to the door. 

“I think I saw the cleaning crew on the fourth floor,” the woman added helpfully. 

Steve knew to avoid that floor at least, and hopefully his cover story would have legs, if he ran into someone else. The door led into a pantry and then the grand, stainless steel kitchen that serviced the entire tower. It was mostly empty, but there was a small staff on standby presumably for any meals that might come up.

Pushing open the first door he saw, Steve found himself in a long, white hallway. He picked a direction at random and started to walk until he came to a bank of elevators. As he waited for the doors to open, he considered everything he knew about Tony and skyscrapers. Generally, the residences were on the top floors and he wouldn’t be surprised if the sole omega heir to the Stark fortune was nestled away, in a safe, in the very core of the building. 

He hit the highest floor he didn’t need a special key code for and waited, not letting the doubt or the what-the-hell was he doing seep in, and when he failed at that, reminding himself that he’d done far worse for far less important reasons. The doors slid open and revealed a sea of offices. On either side of the elevator bank were glass walls and doors, with the company running at full speed behind them. 

He took a deep breath, trying to consider what to do next, and was hit with the familiar sour aroma. It was faint, but Steve would know that scent anywhere, it’d fixed itself into his sensory awareness right there during that moment on the sidewalk. 

He followed it down the white-walled hallway. There were doors shut along each side and Steve found himself testing each doorknob, but all of them were locked and empty. Eventually, the scent started to fade and Steve pivoted on his heel and pushed open the door next to a stairwell sign. Walking up, the door to the next floor required a keycard, but Steve easily pushed it open and repeated his search on that floor, and the next one, and the one above that, every one was empty but the scent grew. 

Then he reached floor ninety and the doors opened to two voices that sounded very much like they were trying to be quiet but failing miserably.

“You know you’re not supposed to speak in those meetings. You’re there to vote and be silent.” A pause and Steve had to slide out of the elevator before the doors shut in front of him. Moving with as softest steps possible, he heard the man continue. “Or maybe I’ll let the other shareholders shut you up in other ways.”

The words were ominous and soured Tony's familiar, desperate scent over the edge and into pure fear. Steve growled under his breath. They were at the end of the hall and neither of them noticed the sound, but then they both breathed in and Steve’s anger must have carried in the air. 

Tony’s eyes were wide with fear when they swung towards Steve. He froze, then took one small step towards the corner of the hallway. Not towards his alpha, Steve noticed. 

So did Stane. His hand shot out, fast and with a firm grip, based off the yelp Tony made, and before Steve could move to them, Stane whipped Tony behind his back and shouted at Steve, “You’re not supposed to be here!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Wednesday!

“I-uh,” Steve had nothing to say to Obadiah Stane. He fixed his worried stare on Tony instead. “Are you alright?”

“Of course he’s al--You’re not supposed to be here. Who do you think you are? What is it to you? He’s fine. Get out.”

Tony hadn’t said a word, didn’t need to say anything. When he finally stopped slack-jawed staring at Steve he began to shake his head, whether to say he wasn’t fine or to get Steve to stop talking. 

“He’s petrified,” Steve said, keeping his eyes on Tony.

“Who the fuck cares?! Get the fuck out!” Stane pulled out his cellphone and pressed a button. “Security! Ninetieth floor. Now.”

Tony looked at him with impossibly wide eyes, wet with fear. “Go!” he hissed. “Go!”

Steve didn’t want to, almost said something, but Stane started shouting again, this time at Tony. “Shut the fuck up, you stupid omega. Did I say you could speak?”

The elevator doors chimed behind them and loud footsteps followed. “Please,” Tony begged, still to Steve. “Please leave. The stairs--” Tony pointed behind him and with security right behind him he had no other choice but to listen. 

Steve ran. If he hadn’t been enhanced, he’d never had made it down the stairs as fast as he did, out into the lobby, even as the front desk guards started screaming at him too. He ran through the doors and kept running until he was halfway back to his apartment. 

He felt sick as soon as his panic cleared. How could he have just left Tony there? He could hear Stane shouting at him, could see bruises, new, visible, bruises. And how the man spoke to Tony. All of it, every last word, drenched with hatred, with abuse. And Steve had left him there. Alone. 

Steve’s stomach churned and he hunched against his apartment door as soon as he closed it, feeling a physical pain from everything that had transpired. He needed to get back in that building. Again. He was right back where he started, only this time he was on Stark Tower’s radar. 

“Fuck!” Steve shouted into his empty apartment, clamping his fingers in his hair and pulling. Hard. He had not planned for that to go the way it had. For one thing, he’d thought he’d find Tony alone. Which was stupid. 

It was time to get smart. 

The next morning, with his mind on Tony, Steve rolled out of bed and into his shower. He knew what he had to do, the plan coming together easily as soon as he’d decided where his priorities lay. 

He was due at SHIELD and dressed in his tac suit, knowing Coulson would have a car waiting. It would take him to headquarters and he’d have a small window of time to achieve his goal. 

Steve grabbed his bag and closed up his apartment. A driver in a crisp suit jumped out of the car that waited at the curb and walked around to open the door for Steve. 

“Good morning,” Steve greeted him. 

The driver remained silent, like they did every morning. The car started, and the low thrum of the morning news filled the small space as they wove through the city. He usually ignored the news. Most of it was half told narratives, biasly edited in a way that told whatever story they were trying to push. The real wars, the ones that happened off the morning news, he learned about in a SHIELD conference room and on the ground. 

A name cut through his usual tuning-out. 

“--Stane thinks, at least. Whether the move to expand SI’s trade partners beyond our traditional allies is patriotic or not, it isn’t something I imagine is debated in the top floors of Stark Tower much.”

He held his breath, wanting to hear news about Tony, but knowing his name wouldn’t be uttered over the airwaves. The omega had been just out of MIT when his parents passed away, any news corporation would think ignoring him was doing the grieving young man a favor. But without the spotlight, darkness had clearly crept into the forgotten corners of Stark Tower and no one seemed to notice or care. Except for Steve.

The car came to a stop and Steve didn’t wait for the driver, he threw open his door and beelined towards the elevators. He had exactly ten minutes until his briefing, and he intended to be there right on time.

R&D wasn’t a floor he was familiar with, but he did his best to take confident strides through the workshops. It was a huge, open area, with small workspaces around the wall, larger projects and their equipment in the center. A quick scan of the room and Steve saw them, a workspace full of mannequin heads, all with different faces on them. The nanomasks. 

Steve walked around the side of the floor. Most workstations were empty but a few had people working in them. No one seemed to care about Steve though, barely looking up as he passed by. The mannequins holding the masks were, thankfully, unmanned. It’d been a while since he performed any sleight of hand, but he was confident no one noticed when he slipped one into his bag. 

With the target obtained, Steve pivoted on his heel and began his retreat. Like before, no one noticed or cared about his presence. He slipped from R&D and back into the elevator, pressing the correct floor for his briefing this time. Glancing at his watch, he still had three minutes. 

Mission accomplished. 

Later that afternoon, when he slid on the mask on in abandoned alley three blocks from Stark Tower, he thought of Coulson’s piercing gaze and felt a twinge of guilt from his theft. But none of it was enough to thwart his plan. He was going to find Tony again.

Except, when the stairwell door broke open on the floor he’d last seen him on, it was abandoned. Pulling in a deep breath through his nose revealed nothing but cleaning supplies and the adrenaline of late night business dealings.

He tried floors at random, but none of them led to Tony. All that planning, for nothing.

~~~

Steve didn’t go back to the Tower the day after he’d taken the mask from SHIELD. He didn’t go the day after that, or the day after that. He went to SHIELD, the gym, the grocery store, and did not walk to Stark Tower. 

He had no excuses why on his first day off, he found himself sitting on a bench outside of Stark Tower with his sketchbook on his lap. In his pocket was the warm weight of his purchase from the cellphone store. The anxious ball that had formed in his gut when he first saw Tony partially settled just from being this close to him. He knew the omega was in that Tower, and Steve tried not to focus on the fact that he was essentially standing guard. 

Too bad the danger was in the Tower as well. 

He sketched, trying not to think, which was probably how he ended up drawing a rough sketch of the window display from that day on the sidewalk. The clothing that had transfixed Tony, with its sleek, dark fabrics, and finely cut corners. Tony had stood in front of a three piece suit, the crisp, buttoned vest framed by an open jacket. 

The sun was starting to set when he finished the sketch. Looking at the building, he considered his chances but knew he was going to go inside anyway. He pulled the mask out of his bag and fixed it onto his face in the empty alley by the back door. The kitchen staff glanced his way but when it appeared like he knew where he was going, no one questioned him.

This time, he again smelled the lingering scent of Tony. It was almost stale, as if it’d been hours since he walked these halls, but the sour didn’t tinge as much, and there was no whiff of Obadiah Stane by his side. Alone, Tony’s scent lightened with tints of honey. 

Steve followed up several floors, until he got to one he hadn’t been to before. It looked more like the hallway of a hotel than an office building. The scent of Tony was almost as strong as when he was right in front of him. 

Suddenly, unease churned his stomach, and he froze with a violent, startling realization: he was stalking Tony. The thought of knocking on these doors, of following his nose to the one that smelled the most like Tony and testing the knob, it made his blood run cold. As much as he wanted to see Tony again, he didn’t want to violate his privacy, insert himself in the young man’s life unasked. 

Instead he pulled his backpack around and unzipped it. He opened his sketchbook to the page he’d been using to recreate the day he met Tony. Carefully, he ripped the paper free and slid the book back into his bag. Then he pulled the burner phone out of his pocket. From the front of his backpack he pulled out a pen and left a message on the back of the paper. 

_Use this if you’re in an emergency. Or if you just want someone to talk to._

He’d preprogrammed his own number, and a few Omega Advocacy and Abuse hotline numbers. It was a blanket assumption, but Steve had seen enough to feel certain. He could count the bruises on Tony’s skin and the visible ones were half a dozen. He didn’t even want to think what sort of pain Stane could inflict to the sensitive skin hidden from Steve's gaze by clothing. 

The omega needed help, and Steve wasn’t going to keep avenues of assistance away from him, even if it meant he was overstepping. 

Folding the sketch around the phone, Steve left the gift in the corner of the hallway, near the part that smelled the most of Tony. Then he turned around and left. 

~~~

_ >>Thank you for the phone. And...everything you put in it. _

He hadn’t even made it back to his apartment and Tony had messaged him. Steve imagined him silently standing on the other side of the door, eye pressed to the peephole, watching Steve. 

_ <<You’re welcome. I didn’t want to overstep but _

But he had, and he didn’t regret it. Especially now that Tony messaged him. His cheeks warmed as he walked and stared at the phone, completely focused on Tony’s pending reply. He barely stepped around a woman and a stroller, dipped to the nearest subway entrance and started down the stairs. He prayed he wouldn’t lose service.

_ >>I’m glad you did. I don't get to chat with people much. Well, people outside of Stane’s orbit. _

Steve clenched the phone in his hand, his mind screaming as loud as the incoming train. 

_ <<You know that’s not okay, right? _

Today was all about overstepping, apparently. And Steve had no intention of stopping. 

_ >>Not according to the Law. _

Steve swallowed, teeth clenching at the truth of it. He didn’t know what to say, because, if bound, an alpha and omega couldn’t bring charges against each other; the law viewed them as one. Steve wanted to tear their bond apart, even if it was an intangible connection of saliva and hormones. The phone in his hand buzzed again.

_ >>I’m constantly reminded of that fact. _

Steve’s blood boiled.

_ <<You could break the bond. _

_ >>It’s not that easy. _

_ >>I like your sketch. _

An obvious change of subject. 

_ >>Even if you got the lapels wrong though _

Steve smiled and got on the train.

_ <<Oh yeah? _

_ <<I guess I was a bit distracted. _

“Crap,” Steve reprimanded himself. The man that got on the train next to him shot him a glance but a mumbled swear was next to normal when it came to New York’s subway system. He hadn’t meant to flirt with Tony, though. Yes, he was an attractive omega, Steve wasn’t blind. But he was obviously in need, and what he needed _wasn’t_ another alpha sniffing around him. 

_ >>You don’t say? _

_ >>By what? The display of alpha rage going on midday on the sidewalk _? 

_ <<Yes. _

Steve couldn’t help himself, he didn’t want Tony to think that’s all he remembered from that day.

_ <<And by you. _

_> >:smiley_face:_

Steve was writing a reply asking Tony how he was today, when a series of messages came in back to back.

_ >>Fuck _

_ >>I have to go. _

_ >>I should be able to message you soon. _

_ >>Meet me Wednesday, in the alley you’ve been using to sneak in. At noon, if you can. _

_ <<How did you know that’s how I got in? _

_ <<Okay. I can do that. What about Stane? _

There was no response.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Wednesday, everyone!

Steve ran his hand through his hair; it was the only thing he could fidget with that felt familiar. His face was that of a stranger, a nose too big, jaw more narrow than expected. He shouldn’t have been five minutes early. All it meant was more time to build up his anxiety. 

How was Tony even going to escape unnoticed? Surely Stane kept his omega under supervision. A bang behind him startled him from his thoughts, and a man with Tony’s build slipped out of the kitchen door. He had an unfamiliar face and scent blockers on, but under it Steve could smell the scent that had been driving him crazy for weeks. 

“How--?”

The strange face had a dark, satisfied expression across it. “Where do you think SHIELD got the design from?” he asked, under his breath and not meeting his eye. His face was a war between pride and learned submission. 

“Stark Industries?”

Tony shrugged. “I swiped one a while ago. I can’t use it when Obie is around because he can feel me with the--'' Tony made an aborted gesture with his hand up and down his neck, to apparently signify his bond with Stane. Steve felt a growl form under his breath, and he wasn’t able to stop its undercurrent. The stranger’s face in front of him blushed in response and the yearning to see that on Tony’s own face derailed his anger. 

Tony continued, “But when he’s gone, his goons don’t know one way or another.”

“Don’t they get suspicious seeing the same stranger walking around your apartments?”

Tony bit his lip. It was too thin, mouth too wide to really look like Tony. “I may have tinkered with it. It was easy since I--” Tony cut himself off. “Anyway, hi. Thanks for the phone and, well, I guess, I mean. It was nice while it lasted.”

“What do you mean?” Steve gestured them down the alley, leaning against a wall away from the dumpsters. 

“Oh, um, I figured it was obvious when I stopped chatting.” He shrugged, hunched into himself. “Obie found it and…” He ran his hand over his neck. “Yeah.”

“Shit.”

“It’s okay,” Tony quickly reassured. “I was just happy we’d set a time to meet before. I’m used to his--I mean, it was fine. He was mad but it’s not like he hadn’t caught me doing worse. And it wasn’t like I’d called any of the numbers you’d programmed--that would’ve been--yeah, not horrible but not good either. And I wasn’t dumb enough not to delete your messages right after you sent them so. Yeah, what was I saying? Oh, right, thanks. It was a nice gesture.”

“Tony,” Steve gasped. He had no idea when he slid Tony the phone how much stress he’d been putting on him. He should’ve known though, should’ve thought it through and he told Tony as much.

Tony shrugged again. “It’s usually pretty dull as long as Obie isn’t going off the rails. You provided me with something….”

“Inappropriate? If I crossed a line--?”

“Intriguing.” 

“If he found out--I don’t want to get you into any trouble, Tony.”

The face Tony wore twisted in disgust. “Well, then I suggest you leave, because trouble seems to follow me.”

Steve’s mind had stumbled over _ “I suggest you leave” _ because he didn’t really know much about what was driving his decisions, only that he hadn’t been this consumed by something since before he jumped through time, and all of it centered around Tony. The thought of walking away? Hell, no. “I like trouble. I just want to make sure I’m not making things worse for you.”

Tony stared at him for a long while. “You really mean that don’t you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Tony scented the air, making Steve blush and look away. “Because most alphas would be after one thing Mr…. What was your last name, anyway?”

“Mr. Rogers.”

Tony burst out laughing. Steve wondered for a second if he’d given himself away. Tony knew his name was Steve. If he knew "Steve Rogers," maybe he'd put two and two together and--It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell Tony he was Captain America, he just didn’t want to lead with that and _ crap. _ Why was he still laughing?”

“Are you kidding me? Like the kid's show! ‘Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood. That’s just rich isn’t it? You would be buttoned up sweater man. Oh my god. I can’t. Give me a second.” 

Tony took a few deep breaths and pressed his hand against the wall, trying to stop from laughing. “Okay, Mr. Rogers. So maybe you do just want to be my neighbor. Not trying to get under my sweater. Not looking to get one over on me, for the press or something. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“Tony, have others--”

“Nope. We’re talking about you right now, and how you aren’t going to get me into trouble, just smuggling contraband into my ivory tower.”

Steve looked down the alley. “I can take you somewhere safe.”

“Nowhere is safe.” Tony’s tone ran a chill down his spine, so completely different from his laughter only minutes before, that it twisted something in his gut, made him want to punch a wall or puke. Tony had left before--his four words said without saying--and it hadn’t ended well.

“Okay. Whatever I can do to help, though.”

“How about being my friend?” Tony snorted. “God that sounds pathetic. I swear I used to...Well, there’s a lot of ways I can finish that sentence but none of them are really worth going into right now.”

Steve did not believe that for a second but he didn’t push Tony. “I want to be your friend. Maybe next time I can bring you another phone.”

“I’m not going to say no to shiny gadgets from pretty alphas.” Tony pressed his lips together, flicking his gaze back to the tower. “I mean, hypothetically.”

_ Pretty. _ Steve took a deep breath and tried to focus on the friend request part of Tony’s response. “How will I know when to come back?”

“Obie’s gone every other Wednesday. Some stupid illuminati meeting or something, I don’t care much other than the fact that he’s never back before midnight and it gives me--Anyway, yeah. If you want, I mean, if that’s not too far from now. I know I’m hardly forgettable, but in this day in age, people have the attention span of a sparked circuit board--”

Steve wanted to let Tony ramble because he was kind of adorable when he did it, but the growing level of anxiety breaking through Tony’s scent blockers made Steve decide to come to his assistance. “That sounds good. Far from now, but good.” 

“Yeah.” Tony just stared at him through the strange face and Steve wanted to rip it off, find out what the man was really thinking. Steve wore a mask of his own, was Tony thinking the same thing? This whole thing, subterfuge and strangers, stalking. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said before he could stop himself.

“For what?” 

“Coming here. Following you. I couldn’t stop remembering that day. He’s--” Steve gritted his teeth. “Stane. He’s an asshole. He shouldn’t--You shouldn’t--I couldn’t stop thinking about you and it was so easy with the internet now, and God. I know you said it’s fine, entertainment or whatever, but it wasn’t right. And you deserve an apology, no matter whether you’re okay with it or not. I owe it to you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“Doesn’t matter.” 

Tony’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “Are you even real?”

“Latest round of invasive medical exams says, yes.”

Tony snorted. Steve shrugged.

“I don’t mind the stalking. The fact that you think you owe me anything blows my mind. You do know you’re a hot as fuck, strapping, young alpha. For all intents and purposes you should be a complete, douchebag asshole. You see that right?”

“I’m not much into what I ‘should’ be.”

Tony shook his head, the masks eyes wide with disbelief. “Well, good.”

~~~

They set up a routine. With Stane gone every other week, Steve snuck in with different disguises. The first time after the alley, they actually didn’t make it much further than the kitchens. As soon as the door slammed behind them, Steve was greeted with a buffet of dishes. There was a glazed turkey, an entire slow cooked roast of pig, side dishes and desserts. Behind the food stood the entire kitchen staff. They all watched as Tony poked at his face. “You can lose this. These are good people.” 

“I’m Steve,” he greeted, waving at the group after he slipped off the mask. The cook stepped forward. 

“Chef Ana,” she greeted. “Ana Jarvis. Nice to meet you. We saw how you were treating our Tony, here. Thought you guys might like an afternoon meal.”

“They asked me what you liked,” Tony said, blushing, eyes unable to land anywhere, and Steve was so grateful that they were  _ his _ eyes, no longer hidden behind the nanomask. “I didn’t know. But now we have options! Oh, god. You aren’t a vegetarian right? There are side dishes but the display of dead animals probably--”

Steve couldn’t help the chuckles that broke from his throat. “It’s fine, really.”

And it was. They ate and Steve learned about Tony’s favorite foods, of the chef and butler and driver that had become a family for Tony, when his real one was gone and the one in charge of him failed so horribly. 

Everyone knew; no one discussed it. Stane was a blacklisted topic and Steve never saw him. Through the black shadow that was his presence, bits of Tony shined through. After the kitchens, they went down to a second level garage, passed all the staff vehicles, and into a tiny office. The windows were painted dark and there was an Out of Order sign on the door. 

“Obie can be pretty elitist, to be honest. Mostly stays away from anything that has to do with the Tower staff.” He flicked on the light and through the doorway Steve could see many tables pressed together, their surfaces covered with project, experiments, bits of metal and vials of chemicals. “His classism is my gain.” 

That day, Steve barely had his jaw shut, every turn causing it to drop. Tony’s private workshop was magnificent. There were prototypes of technology he’d only seen in the R&D at SHIELD, and the way Tony explained everything, rapid fast and unable to wait for Steve to catch up. He had taken a few steps back, leaning against the wall to watch in awe at who Tony Stark really was. The bright eyes as three robots rolled across one of the tables and waved at Steve, the way he had something for Steve, a bluetooth that linked directly to the one in Tony’s ear. Connecting them via old time radio waves. 

“You’re amazing,” Steve hadn’t been able to keep in the words. Tony froze over his creations, barely looking up from under his fringe to send Steve a small smile. 

“Thanks.”

The whispered word sat with Steve for the two weeks it took to see Tony again. He heard it on his way to SHIELD, when he was rinsing off the dishes, late at night when he tried to sleep. Tony hadn’t contradicted Steve, hadn’t brushed him off or clammed up from Steve’s compliment. He’d accepted it. Each time he saw Tony, his scent, his posture, his expression, all of it eased, warmed, changed from the vile, twisted sourness from the first time they met. But when he whispered  _ Thanks _ , a rush of honey flooded the small workshop and Steve could only breathe it in and hope he could bring that level of joy out of Tony again, and soon. 

As soon as he entered the Tower this time, though, he knew something was wrong. His wave to the kitchen crew was met with stilted hellos and flickering eyes, no one saying anything but their silence saying everything. 

“What--”

“Stane is gone already,” Chef Ana explained. “You should find Tony in the library.”

“The library?”

“One hundredth and fourth floor.”

“That’s in the residence….”

“Take this.” Chef Ana handed him a fob. “The elevator will open you up to where you need to be. I’m almost certain of it.”

Something was off, and Steve let the panic and adrenaline propel him forward, making his feet trip over themselves as he pressed the elevator button. It took forever to arrive and couldn’t move up fast enough. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mind the tags this Wednesday.

Steve smelled it before the library doors opened. The honey scent from last time had twisted into a citrusy spice. In the center of the room, Tony laid on a chaise lounge, a blanket pulled up and over his shoulders. 

“Hey,” Steve whispered as he pushed the door shut behind him. 

Tony shifted, looked over his shoulder at Steve with a groan. His face crumpled in discomfort. “Hey,” he managed. 

“Ana told me where you were, but if you want to be left alone...”

The citrus scent flooded the room as Tony sat up, his legs parting, then closing, then parting again like he couldn’t sit in one place, discomfort causing him to constantly move, shift, relieve pressure from his behind.

“Stay,” Tony said, pulling the blanket around himself as he nodded towards the space next to him that he’d been laying on. “Sit. I can’t do much today, but Obie’s gone and it’d be nice to have some company.”

Steve walked over to Tony, and sat down next to him. He took a deep breath. “What happened?” he couldn’t help but ask. Tony’s cheeks were flushed and his hair looked like it’d sweated then dried over again, like he’d recently been for a run, but it was more than obvious that wasn’t the case. “Are you hurt?”

Tony shook his head. “Nothing like that.”

“Then like what?”

Tony didn’t say anything for a moment and when he did it was through a pasted on smile, his gaze fixed on the far wall of the library. “You haven’t seen this room before, right? It’s one of my favorites. None of the other residents are really one for books, so it’s usually empty. Look around. Take something or somedozen, no one will notice.” 

Steve took a deep breath, the citrusy smell waffling between too sour and Tony’s normal honey-sweet, but tinting with a new, heavier musk. Just the one breath made him lightheaded, and he took the invitation to stand up and look around the books as an escape. Over the last couple months of visiting Tony, he’d never been in the library before. The shelves were endless and, it seemed, categorized by genre. He was in military history, both ancient eastern and western accounts side by side. “This is...wow.”

“My mother,” Tony supplied. “She put it together. Used every allowance Howard gave her, all of it went to this.”

“It’s really impressive.” 

Tony didn’t say anything else, just watched as Steve browsed. The scent in the air never lessened, but the sourness went away. At least until Tony stood up and hissed in pain, every step he took accompanied by a wince as he walked over to Steve. 

“What happened?” Steve whispered when Tony was close. “Only, if you want to tell me, of course. Please, maybe I can help.” 

Tony closed his eyes and shook his head. Steve’s gaze fixed on the bits of moisture that wet the corners of his eyes, but by the time his eyelashes fluttered open again the tears were gone and the bright eyes he’d come to know were as dead as the ones he’d first seen on the sidewalk weeks ago. “It’s nothing. It’s normal. A medical exam, nothing really, routine.”

The words soured the room, the bitter bite twisting through the citrusy scent that doused the air.

“What type of exam?”

Another beat of silence. Tony turned his back to the books, so he faced the open, empty library that his mother had built. “Fertility. Arousal. Reactive and Active.”

Steve growled, low and deep in his chest. He’d heard of the medical exams, it was such a normal part of the omega life that he’d never really thought much of it, until now, like many things that had to do with Tony. Back in the forties, there were clinics in every city, it must be the same now. Though he couldn’t imagine Tony going to a public clinic. Steve's eyes shot to the chaise lounge and a mental image followed, one of Tony laid out on it, a doctor with a gloved hand opening him up, checking his slick glands and milking his prostate till completion. 

His bondmate would be there. Stane. Steve growled again. He hadn’t smelled him at first, the thick, citrusy smell of Tony’s slick overpowering the entire room. But near the hints of sourness was a thread of alpha, stifled by de-odorizer, but there. Tony would have had to react for Stane, during the exam, proof that he was fertile and suitable, and all sorts of archaic methods of alpha-based approval. 

“You’re hurt,” Steve whispered to the books. “Inside.”

Tony dropped his head. “I didn’t pass the Reactive portion. At least, not suitably enough.”

Steve felt cold inside; he wanted to rip down every shelf, pull the pages out of each book, burn it to the ground. He took a deep breath, but it was too full of too many scents to do anything to calm him. “What does that mean?”

“Artificial knotting.” Tony walked away, towards the next bookshelf over. He slid his fingers and pulled out a book, tossed it over to Steve without warning. He caught it anyway and in his hand he read that it was a book about the exam. “Since you seem so interested,” Tony sneered. 

Steve gripped the book to his side and took an aborted step towards Tony. “I just want to make sure you’re okay--”

“Oh sure! That’s all this is. You’re not looking for the lurid details about how the doctor held me down, as Obie stretched me open, too fast and too rough. The way the doctor examined my slick off the glove, how he sniffed it and licked it when Obie crudely offered a taste from the source, is that what you want to hear Steve?”

“Of course not!” Steve shouted, the images of it all flooding Steve’s mind and it made his breath catch, his blood run hot, then boil over with the shame rooted in the flickering of arousal he felt, couldn’t help but feel at the fact that he too now knew what Tony’s slick smelt like: citrus and honey. Until Stane intervened and then Tony’s scent soured and wilted into something perverse and haunting. Arousal mixed with fear, distress. 

Steve yearned to learn the scent unaltered, to know how it felt to be the cause of it--He cut the thought off, guilt washing away all the intrigue, all the reactive arousal. His body responded to the stimuli that was Tony, but the reality made him lock it down tight, deep inside himself. “Is there anything I can do?”

Tony sighed, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a deep breath. Then another. Then another. Scenting Steve, Tony’s shoulders lost a bit of their strain. Before Steve’s eyes, Tony used his scent to calm down and he’d never purred before but the bubbling in his chest felt like the beginning of it. He cleared his throat and it brought Tony’s wide brown his to him. “Lose to me in chess?” Tony whispered.

Steve chuckled. “Only if you claim it fair. I won’t let you win.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

They’d been playing the game in companionable silence for some time when Tony, hand hovering over his rook, looked up to Steve. “They put me on prenatals.”

Steve gasped before he could even think to mask his reaction. “You’re barely twenty three.”

Tony shrugged. “That line of argument didn’t seem to persuade Obie.”

Steve swore under his breath. “I can help.” 

Tony looked away, bit his lip. Steve could help, in so many ways, ways Tony didn’t even know. A new guilt slammed into Steve. In all this focus on Tony, on protecting him from Stane and providing him with friendship, Steve had failed to mention one important detail. 

It’d been trained into him from over a century ago: he did not bring up Captain America. Unless he was in uniform or on the battlefield, he was Steve. 

He desperately wanted Tony to know him as Steve. He told himself that was why he pushed it to the side, failed to think about what it meant, but here he was a “Hero” and he was failing the one man he...cared for. 

Tony looked over the chess pieces, ignoring Steve’s hundredth offer of assistance. This time, his stomach churned because Tony didn’t know it all, the whole truth, and maybe he would want Captain America to tear down his alpha and help Tony break the bond he so obviously detested. Along his arms were bruises that Steve knew would match Stane’s fingerprints. The scent of slick surrounded them because, what? An induced heat or something similar. Tony writhing on the medical bed, strapped down and body wanting. At least, physically. Steve’s heart twisted, and it took Tony moving his bishop to a clever spot for Steve to snap back into the present. Tony was looking at him. 

“You sure you’re not the one that needs help?” 

Steve snorted. “Maybe it’s just something we have in common.”

Tony smiled, small and private like he meant to keep it just for him. “Maybe so.”

They finished the game, Tony winning but it wasn’t a slaughter and Tony actually seemed surprised. After, Tony fixed him with an unrelenting stare and Steve shifted. “Where did you learn to play chess like that? I really don’t know much about you other than you’re a persistent artist that also works in security. Probably served, or is still on reserves.”

Steve smiled. “How’d you figure all that?” 

“So I'm not wrong.”

Tell him. “No. I, uh, well..”

“It’s okay,” Tony cut him off. “You don’t have to tell me. I know some things are like, confidential, and the fact that you’re even here, and that we’re, you know,” he gestured his hand at Steve like that explained whatever he meant but Steve had no idea. 

“Friends?” he supplied.

Tony smirked. “Yeah, that. So it’s okay if you can’t like, you know, tell me about your life. Or don’t want to. Like, I get it. You might have a life, a family, or like a super secret job, or something. I don’t know what I’m saying, but I do know that I’m saying that you don't need to say anything--”

“Tony, I’m Captain America.” Crap. He hadn’t meant to say that, but the thought of lying...Silence rang out over the chess table until Tony blurted out a bark of laughter. 

“That’s a good one. Oh my god, could you imagine--”

The clock on the far wall chimed three and they both stopped talking, hurrying to pick up the game. Stane would be back soon. Tony pushed in his chair, walking back to the chaise lounge with obvious discomfort. “Here,” Steve called, walking over to slide his arm around Tony’s waist and pull his arm over Steve’s shoulders. He helped him to chaise. 

“I’m fine, really,” Tony whispered but he didn’t move away, instead Steve could’ve sworn he shuffled closer. 

“I know, but it helps a bit, yeah?” He wanted to do something.. 

“Sure,” Tony replied. “It’s distracting me enough from the internal pain, at least.”

Steve smiled. “Well see, that’s something.” 

As they got to the chaise, Tony broke away and Steve immediately missed his warmth. “I should go.”

“Yeah. Thanks for entertaining and distracting me. I bet you’d beat the heck out of the real Captain America in chess.”

Steve froze, heartbeat speeding up and blood shooting against his ear drums. “Right,” he said stiffly. “Well...bye.”

He flew from the room but was still able to hear Tony's shouted “bye” through the door. His scent permeated around him, flooding the hallway and sticking to Steve’s clothes. It was going to follow Steve home. 

He pushed away from the door and went back to his apartment. Sitting on the couch, he stared at his hands and wondered what he would have done if Tony believed him about being Captain America. Would he come to believe him? He just blurted it out. The biggest secret of his life, and Steve just told a near stranger.

No. He’d told a friend. Someone that he wanted to help and that was helping him. Steve wasn’t so oblivious that he hadn’t noticed the positive effects Tony had on him. After waking up in this century with everyone he knew from back then, a stranger now decades older; it was as if he was floating alone, a man out of time. But then Tony. The draw of him, yearning to get to know him, the will to help him, all of it was something that tethered him to the here and now. And Tony didn’t even know.

Steve swore again. He’d been impulsive in the past but this surpassed it all, definitely for anything he’d done this century. And Tony hadn’t even believed him.

He went to sleep that night only after tossing and turning for hours, the scent of Tony fixed fully in his head, evolving from scared, distressed and sour, to citrus mixed with honey. His hand wandered as he drifted off, wrapping around his cock on its own at the memory of happy, flooding slick wafting off of Tony as he sat on the chaise lounge. The memory of walking over to him, of leaning in and absorbing that smell, to bending over and kissing him--

The memories broke off, perverted and conflated by fantasy and Steve tore his hand away from his cock and rolled over, willing himself to sleep. 

He tried to infuse the sour scent into his memory, punched the pillow when he remembered Tony’s fearful retellings. How small and young he sounded, when he mentioned Stane wanting to fill him with pups. Steve growled into his pillow and turned back onto his back, fists clenched on his side and wishing more than anything he could punch them into Stane’s jaw over, and over, and over.

Steve didn’t like violence for violence sake but it was that thought that finally lulled him to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

These Thursday mornings had become the longest day in Steve's week. It was the day after his every-other-Wednesday visit, and the day furthest from seeing Tony again. Still, the man completely occupied his thoughts. At SHIELD, Coulson had to call him twice before he was able to hear him and turn around. 

“They make supersoldier strength headphones now?” Coulson asked, clearly already knowing the answer.

“No,” Steve replied anyway, pulling out the earbud. “Just distracted by the news.”

“Markets falling, industry still booming, I’m sure there’s not a whole lot that mainstream news outlets can tell you that you don’t already know about from briefings.” His eyes narrowed. “Well outside of finance and the latest commercial gadgets. Speaking of things SHIELD’s an expert on, we’re missing a nanomask and I’m doing a basic ask-and-hope mission to see if it turns up. Do you know anything about it?”

One thing people always forgot was that Steve Rogers lied to get in the military; he lied to get out of trouble; he lied to find sustenance for first his mother and best friend, and then for his men on the battlefield. Now, Steve smiled easily and shook his head.

But Coulson wasn’t everyone, and Coulson knew Steve Rogers’ reputation as much as Captain America’s. “We have a recording that puts you by that table in R&D on the day of the theft.”

Steve hummed. “I was there. I like to see how far technology has come. Is that a problem?”

“Of course not. So long as your curiosity doesn’t become home study. But then again.” Coulson surveyed his eyes and Steve tried not to shift under the scrutiny. “What would Captain America need with a disguise?”

Coulson answered his own question in the asking of it, but neither of them acknowledged it. “I hope you find what you're looking for Agent Coulson.”

Coulson nodded and kept walking down the hall. He knew, and he was going to let Steve keep it. But one thing was for certain, he couldn’t swipe any more R&D from SHIELD. 

All morning, an idea had been forming, one Steve had hoped to execute with the help of the storage closet in SHIELD medical but now Steve had to change gears. He didn’t particularly like theft or subterfuge, but he was going to have to do at least one to successfully help Tony, and helping Tony seemed to be his top, and only, priority these days. 

The bell chimed as he pushed open the door to the pharmacy, later that afternoon. Behind the counter was an older beta, her gray hair tied back in a bun. “How can I help you, sir?”

Steve shifted from foot to foot, knew his face resembled a deer caught by surprise. “I’m looking for, um, something to help an omega. My, um, omega. We want to, uh, not have to worry, right now at least, um...”

“I’m going to need a little more information than that,” the pharmacist prompted with a smile. “Is your omega, and you of course, looking for family planning?”

The words caught in his ear. He’d heard them before, back in the 40s, in hushed tones, usually to describe an illegal abortion. Steve’s face must have displayed some of his horror because the woman smiled indulgently. “It won’t hurt your omega. We have plenty to choose from, from condoms--both for you or them--along with implants and suppressants.”

“Suppressants?”

“They really don’t teach alphas much at all when it comes to omega sexual health do they?” The pharmacist shook her head.

“I’m...sorry.”

“Oh, not aimed at you dear, you’re here doing it right, asking questions and seeking help. Only way to do what you’re doing better, would be if you’d brought in your lovely omega with you.”

Steve flushed, both at imagining Tony as his own, and at the perceived shame that he was going over his head or behind his back to be here. “He wanted to come, but because--”

“Oh, it’s nothing. More often than not alphas come in without their omegas, and they submit prescriptions for much worse things for them than suppressants. The law, as they say, benefits the powerful.” The pharmacist sniffed, her cheeks pinkening as she changed the subject. “Anyway, you definitely don’t want to hear my opinion on Alpha Law, so let's get you sorted. How old is your omega?”

Steve left the pharmacy fifteen minutes later with a bag of suppressants and a countdown until the next time he’d see Tony. 

A day passed, then another, and Steve wasn’t going to make it. Next Wednesday was too far away. At night, Steve’s usual array of nightmares morphed, anxiety forcing them all to fixate on Stane. Stane shouting, Stane hitting him, Stane forcing his knot on Tony. He wasn’t going to be able to wait.

The next morning he woke up early, long before the sun, and made his way to Stark Tower. The route was familiar but every time he walked it, he wore an unfamiliar face, not taking any chances when he had the nanomask available to him. As he approached the alleyway door, he knocked a practiced pattern and waited. After a minute, the door slid open to Chef Ana’s smiling face. “Steve, what a surprise.” She stepped back to let him in, her smile sliding from her face as she took in his expression. “I’m guessing this isn’t a happy visit.” She looked to the clock. “They’re upstairs in a Board meeting right now.” 

Steve closed his eyes and counted to three, waves of angry alpha breaking through his odor blockers. Tony had told him how Stane liked to parade him around these Board meetings. Use his presence and scent to distract or--he swallowed back against the bile crawling up his throat-- _tempt_ the opposing parties. 

Obadiah Stane was mere floors above him, so accessible yet completely untouchable because as much as he wanted to save Tony, he hadn’t been asked to fight this fight. All he could do were little things. Little things like slide the pharmacy bag from his coat pocket and hand it over to Chef Ana. 

“I think,” Steve began, swallowing when she took the bag and peeked inside. “I know it’s incredibly invasive, and really none of my business,” he started, faster than he could breathe, words stumbling over each other. This was the right thing to do; at least, he’d been so sure when he stood outside of the pharmacy. “He deserves the option,” Steve said, finality in his words, because of that fact he was absolutely sure.

Chef Ana’s brow pinched, but she kept the bag, slid it into her apron pocket and patted it through the fabric as she took in Steve. “Yes,” she finally said. “He does. I’ll make sure my husband gets it. Edwin can pass it to him.”

“Thank you. And Mr. Jarvis we--”

“Aren’t doing this for you. And neither should you.”

“I’m--” he cut himself off. Steve wasn’t doing this for himself, and he wasn’t going to argue against the position. “You’re right. He deserves better. I want to help. I told him, and now I’m showing him. He doesn’t need to take them, he can flush them down the toilet if he wants. But if he wants to take them, tell him that I can get him a pack for next month, or try to see if I can get a whole year's worth. If he wants. It’s available, now, with an alpha’s permission.”

“I know, Steve,” Chef Ana finally broke in, bringing a hand up to rub his shoulder. “I’ll make sure he knows.”

“Thank you.”

They stood there for a moment, each probably more focused on the omega upstairs in a Board Meeting than what was happening in the kitchen, but then a pot of food hissed and Steve broke away. “I should go. If Stane--”

“You don’t have to explain to me. We do what we can, but it’s never enough. It’s like that demon finds new ways to make that boy's life miserable and,” she broke off with a heavy breath. “I’m glad you’re here now, Steve. You bring a light with you, no matter what face you wear.” 

Next Wednesday came by slowly after that. He was sent on a weekend warrior mission into the jungle, a simple drop and grab of alien technology that somehow got into the wrong person's hands. Steve barely got a scratch on him, which was good because the entire time he was in uniform he stressed about what he was going to tell Tony. About Captain America, about the suppressants, about what he thought about sometimes late at night but knew he had no right to say. 

When Wednesday finally came around, a pit formed in Steve’s stomach, one that hadn't been there before, one that felt like it could be good, excited, butterflies but then sometimes twisted into a foreboding ache; he’d overstepped. Tony would think him no better than Stane. 

That thought made the pit throb and thorn into his side. He ended up walking to the Tower early, but paced outside until he was ten minutes later than usual. Chef Ana wasn’t in the kitchen but her friendly staff was, so Steve gave them a grateful wave as he slipped through the door with a new face on. 

He pressed the button for the penthouse. Chef Ana put the approval code into the employee elevator before her shift ended. 

“Thank you,” Steve whispered. Every time he was there, he wondered at what sort of risk the building's inhabitants put themselves in for Tony. What it said about Tony and about the staff, that they’d willingly undergo the risk, just for these clandestine meetings. 

The penthouse was empty when the elevator opened onto it. This was only the second time he’d been here, and was still awed by its immense open floor plan. It smelled only of Tony because Stane summoned him to _his_ penthouse when he wanted Tony. Tony had explained it as something to do with the memory of Howard killing Stane’s boner. Either way, Steve was grateful. He didn’t have to worry about growling throughout his entire visit from Stane’s lingering scent.

Tony had told Steve that the penthouse hadn’t changed much since his parents had been alive. He kept their family portrait hanging above the piano in the living room and Steve shuffled and turned away from Tony’s parents' posthumous gaze. He walked instead through the apartment to the large balcony with its attached swimming pool. Tony was in it, the sun shining bright overhead, and Steve forgot how to swallow.

He stood there for a while admiring the way the water rolled over Tony’s shoulders as he swam laps down the pool. They were high above the streets and it almost looked like he was swimming over the city itself. When he reached the opposite end of the pool he turned and did a back stroke down the other end. Steve couldn’t look away from his abs, torso, chest, way more skin than he was expecting or prepared for. He had not worn enough scent blocker. 

As he reached the near end of the pool, Tony stopped and pushed himself out, water freely flowing down his body and over the elastic waist of his too-tight bathing suit that was nothing more than a tiny, thigh hugging, second skin. “Hey!” Tony greeted him with a smile “I must have lost track of time.”

Steve swallowed and looked away, knowing his face was beet red. Tony chuckled and walked over to a nearby deck chair where a plush white robe awaited him. Only when he wrapped it around his bare shoulders and tied it closed with a knot at his hip, did Steve take in a deep breath.

He regretted it immediately. Under the chlorine and the soft, sweet honey was the barest hint of orange citrus. Only this time, it didn’t contain any of the lingering fear from when he’d first scented it in the library. Tony continued talking around a smirk, like he was thoroughly enjoying Steve’s response to him, and Steve struggled to catch up. 

“--and it was crazy, brazen as all hell really. What can I expect from someone who goes around claiming to be a long dead American Hero?” Tony threw himself on the deck chair.

Steve sat down on the chair next to him. “Well, about that--”

“Seriously, though,” Tony cut in. “I didn’t think you’d do anything like that. Not after...”

Steve was thrown because he really wanted to explain the Captain America thing, but Tony was starting to turn in on himself just remembering their conversation in the library. The conversation that led to the suppressants. “I didn’t mean to overstep,” Steve added quickly. “If you want to throw them in my face or whatever, I understand.”

“Whoa now. Overdramatic is an omega stereotype.” He shook his head _tsking_ through a teasing smile. “Not all omegas have the flair for it. I mean, I do, but not about this. This was--” Tony pulled open the edges of his robe to soak a tan into his skin. The long span of his neck led to half his shoulder peeking out, below that for all the world to see were his dusty brown nipples. “Gosh, you’re an open book aren’t you. Even if you weren’t, your scent blockers aren’t nearly strong enough.” 

Steve’s eyes shot back up to Tony’s. “I’m. I mean. Sorry. Of course. Sorry. The suppressants. I couldn’t not, is all. But I--” Steve abruptly stood, walking towards the pool and trying not to panic. Tony caught what he couldn’t hide, what was impossible to suppress: his reaction to Tony. He didn’t deserve another alpha sniffing at his heels, taking from him what he wasn’t offering. 

“Hey!” Somehow Tony had moved without him noticing, tugged on his hand, not letting go. “You don’t have to run away. I’m not mad. About any of it.” Tony scented the air, a small sniff but an intentional one. Steve’s scent gland throbbed and he had to bite his lip against a moan. Their hands were still clasped together and Tony looked at him from under his impossible lashes and smiled, private and vulnerable. “I like it,” he whispered. “I like you.”

“I like you, too.”

Tony pulled back, stepping away, expression shuttering and closing down in front of Steve. “You shouldn’t.”

“I’ve never been one for doing what I should,” Steve mumbled under his breath. Tony either didn’t hear or pretended not to. Instead he walked towards the penthouse, his scent wafting passed Steve, the twist of soured distress returning, horribly, under the citrusy smells. Steve had put that there, in a way. Though he knew it had more to do with Stane, more to do with this hell of a situation he yearned to break Tony free of. When he reached the door to the penthouse, Tony looked back at him from over his shoulder. “Chess?” he asked with a wane smile. 

“Sure,” Steve said, giving him a reassuring smile of his own. “I have to beat you one of these days.”

Tony barked out a laugh. “No you don’t, but you can keep trying.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter and thank you so much for reading. Sending you all a big, virtual hug.


	6. Chapter 6

The next Wednesday they met, Tony didn’t say a word to him, instead he tugged Steve’s hand, leading him back into the elevator as soon as Steve arrived, pressing the button for the lowest basement level, two floors below the garage. The metal doors slid closed behind them and what was usually a companionable silence had Steve rocking on his heels, topics running through his head about what Tony might be surprising him with. Only a few of his thoughts were anything good. Steve scanned Tony’s profile; he seemed anxious, but it appeared to be rooted in excitement as opposed to trepidation. 

“Only a few elevators go down to this floor.” Were the first words Tony spoke to him. 

“What is it?” Steve couldn’t help but ask as they descended. 

“You’ll see.” That didn’t sound too ominous, and Steve let most of his major concerns fall away. Tony seemed well enough, healthy, and happy to be sharing this surprise with Steve. He was practically bouncing next to him, bumping their arms, and mixing their scents together. Steve had wondered once if Stane ever smelled him in the apartment, but Tony assured him he thoroughly cleaned himself and Mr. Jarvis descented the rooms they were in before Stane returned home. There was a pang in Steve's chest at that, at the thought of their mixed scent being covered by cleaning supplies, but he understood. Still, it meant that Steve cherished their scents freely mixing, in the stolen moments that they had together. 

The elevator came to a stop, the doors opening to a huge open floor. On one side there were shelves with rows of paper files, and on the other side, were larger artifacts. There were several whole rooms worth of furniture, half-finished projects, and Steve was pretty sure there was a tank in the furthest end of the floor but it was so far away, and so many other objects were between him and it that it was hard to tell. 

Tony pulled up next to him, wringing his hands as he watched Steve take in the room. He broke his hands apart and gestured towards the floor. “Personal artifacts of the Stark Family.”

“Howard?” Steve easily recalled the man that made his shield. Tony nodded, presumably thinking that Steve only knew the man from the stories he’s told, maybe a webpage bio; Tony had no idea that he’d practically served with the man. His heart raced at the truth, the need to tell it to Tony, how anything he said right now would be a lie. His stomach clenched and he wanted to reach out and stop him as he walked away, down the main aisle. 

Tony turned so he was walking backwards, sending Steve a devastatingly shy smile, one he hadn’t ever seen before. This was important to him, and he wanted Steve to like it. Steve’s heart clenched along with his stomach.

“Howard, yeah. And generations before that, too.”

He had to tell him the truth. “Tony…” They continued down the aisle, the entire floor of the tower, no walls or rooms or hallways, was jam packed with so much stuff it pulled Steve’s attention. “Wow.”

“Us Starks are packrats.” 

One of the rows of shelves to their left had a box with a lid half opened, photographs spilling out. “I bet there’s some great baby photos of a tiny-Tony here.”

“Not!” Tony came over to him, tugging at his arm until Steve budged from the spot, laughing. “Not what we’re here to see.” 

“I see you didn’t refute me, though.” Steve bumped his shoulder against Tony’s. 

Tony hummed, looking at him from the corner of his eye, a faint blush crossing his cheeks. “Maybe.” He pointed a finger in Steve’s face, wagging it. “If you’re good.” Steve tugged on Tony’s finger, making him laugh and grab Steve’s hand to pull him along. “Over here is the stuff my parents collected during my father’s involvement with the Manhattan Project.” There were plates of sheet metal, some wiring, none of it that looked like much to Steve but apparently had something to do with one of the most famous weapons projects of all time. Even though he had no idea what he was seeing, it carried with it an aura of importance, and Steve really wished he could focus on it but a part of him was still focused on trying to think of a way to tell Tony the truth. Tony was here, showing him private, intimate details of his family, and he still had no clue who Steve really was. 

Tony continued through the Manhattan Project remnants, and Steve followed him over to a table where medals, awards, ribbons and plaques covered the entire surface. “Mother put this together for him.” Tony chuckled. “Father would’ve let it collect dust on the floor somewhere.” After a moment he turned to walk towards another cluster of objects, letting his hand drag along the edge of the table. 

“This is incredible, thank you for sharing it with me.” Steve didn’t much like war memorabilia, but he liked that Tony wanted to share it with him. 

Tony smirked and shook his hand. “That wasn’t what I brought you down here for, though. It was just along the way. Just here,” Tony said. 

They turned the corner and Steve was face to face with a clothes rack full of his past: his Captain America cowl, his army uniform, his USO costume. His stuff was everywhere, boxes and bags of it, tucked away under his hanging clothes.

“It sounded like you were a fan.”

“Tony…” Steve couldn’t form any more words. The truth of his lie acting as a slap in the face and shocking him out of breath. 

“Wanted to be the one giving you a gift for a change,” Tony said, his voice small, unsure, but hinting towards proud. “Look!” Tony rushed over to a cloth-covered object and pulled down the fabric. It was the chamber he never thought he’d see again, the one he stepped into small and came out of as Captain America. 

His jaw dropped and Tony seemed to take it as excitement and not the frantic growing of panic souring his gut. 

“This, too!” Tony buzzed around the area, holding up the grenade he once jumped on, an old sweater of his. Every object Tony showed him with an expectant face, ready to share in the joy of a hero's detritus. 

It was his mother’s diary, sitting uninspired on a shelf in the corner that broke him. A strangled noise broke from his throat. He staggered, Tony’s arm shooting around his waist to settle him. With his closeness came his scent and a deep breath did just as much to settle him as the arm. “Steve, what is it?” Tony asked, obviously worried. 

“How did--I mean.” He let out a wet laugh. “Howard Stark collected my mother’s diary?”

“I think my mother found the diary--wait.” 

Steve felt Tony’s heavy gaze on him but it was too easy to keep his on the objects in front of him, around him, hidden in little corners and crannies. All of it was his. Because someone thought them worth saving. He felt cold, definitely in shock, and though it registered that Steve just outed himself, he couldn’t quite feel any remorse. 

Even as Tony’s face twisted with betrayal.

“You weren’t joking,” Tony whispered, backing away, taking his warmth and his scent with him even as it tinged and soured with fear and confusion. “You. Alive....but, how?”

Steve swallowed, answers to every unasked question flying around his mind but he could hardly manage to stammer out the one word reply. “SHIELD.”

“Oh.”

“And your dad, before he died. They found me frozen in the arctic, brought me back decades after I crashed--”

“Right. Wouldn’t let his omega son in on that one even if--Well, right. Very good. Welcome. Back, of course.” Tony straightened, tense and overly formal. “This shitty world needs more heroes, let me tell you.”

The reference to Tony’s own, personal villain hung in the air between them and Steve needed to explain, all the times he wanted to bust in and rip Stane to pieces. “I wanted to be that for you. Take him out. I could have, easily.” Steve clenched his fists. “I still can.”

“But you didn’t.” The words didn’t carry an accusatory tone but they still hit him square in the heart, sucked out his breath.

“It’s hard to determine which battles are yours to fight, and it’s not my decision to make.”

Tony walked over to a shelf, pulled down a piece of fabric and his shield, the one Howard had first showed him so long ago: lightweight but sturdy, made of the strongest metal unknown to man, was glinting in the light before him. Tony ran a finger along its edge before picking it up and hooking it over his arm, turning to place it between them. Steve swallowed at the sight of Tony holding his shield, itched to remember every detail so that he could recreate it later in his sketchbook. 

“You think I could fight this battle? Fight Obie?”

“You fight him everyday, in one hundred different ways. Us, right here, this is you fighting him.” 

Tony took a step forward and then another, into Steve’s space. The shield was at their sides, creating an enclosed place, just for them. “I didn’t see the point of fighting him before you. But now I want to. I’ve thought about it, Steve, and I--” Tony cut himself off and with a curse, he lifted onto the tips of his toes and kissed Steve. 

Stunned, Steve gasped and Tony leaned closer, swiping his tongue along Steve’s lips. Steve moaned, mouth opening to the first taste of Tony, the first feel of his eager arms coming around to pull Steve flush against him. Their scents rolled around them, heady in bright citrus and honeyed musk. Tony gasped against his lips and Steve never wanted the kiss to end, he ran his hands over Tony’s back, into his hair, back down over his neck, touching all the places he’d wanted to touch for so long, but felt so unsure, so unable to, because Tony wasn’t his and had shown no desire to be. 

The thought seemed so ludicrous now, with Tony gripping tight into his hair and rolling his hips against Steve’s. Tony wanted him, it was clear as day in his scent, his rocking hips, his needy kisses. Steve broke away with a harsh breath when he felt the first hint of Tony’s hard cock against his thigh. “Tony,” he whispered between heaving breaths. 

Tony stepped back enough to meet his eye and smiled, small and a little worried. “Not good?”

Steve let out a bark of a laugh. “Very, _very_ good.” He ran a thumb against Tony’s pink cheek. “But a lot just got revealed, and I don’t want that to get swept away by the power of…”

“Of this?” Tony stepped on his toes and brushed their lips together, just the faintest of touches but it sparked between them an electricity that shot over his mouth and down to his heart. He knew Tony felt it too because when he stepped back he whispered, “Wow,” into the space between them. 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. 

“I want to keep kissing you--”

“Okay.” Steve couldn’t help but agree to that.

“Except, you’re right.”

Steve felt a cold clench in his gut. 

“No, no, nothing like that. I still want to keep kissing you for as long as you let me, but what the hell!” He was shouting but he was still grinning, still holding Steve close. Relief started to eat away at the stunned, paralyzing shock of Tony finally knowing, and not even because he was brave enough to pull him aside and tell him, but because it slipped out. 

“I’m so sorry, Tony. I should’ve told you, I _wanted_ to tell you, I--”

“Hey, hey.” Tony’s hands tightened on his shoulders. “I get it. And, hey! Technically you did tell me.” He leaned in again, pulling Steve into a kiss and his head was spinning from it all, the revelation, their first kiss, the way Tony fit so perfectly in his arms. It was terribly hard to pull back, but he needed Tony to know, to understand. “I really am sorry,” he whispered against his lips.

“I know,” Tony said with another soft kiss.

“Is it strange?” 

Tony pulled back, staying close but turning to look at Steve’s belongings. “I’m just trying to figure out how it even happened.”

“Well, like I said, SHIELD...and your dad. Apparently.” Steve took a deep breath, trying to will down the effects of their kiss, but their aroused scents still clung to the air, making it nearly impossible. “Here, let's sit down.” He led them over to a discarded sofa that held even more of his past possessions. “Coulson told me that together they’d been searching for years. SHIELD found me right after he passed.”

Tony’s hands had been resting in his lap and they clenched at that news. “So it wasn’t that he didn’t tell me, it was that he didn’t even know. After all that time. After all this.” He looked up at Howard’s collection. “I don’t know which one’s worse.” 

“I’m sorry, Tony.” 

“None of that’s your fault.”

“Still, I’m also sorry for your losses. For what happened after.”

“For Obadiah.” 

Steve shifted towards him, put his hands over Tony’s. “I can get you out. My apartment, or SHIELD, or a hotel, anywhere. I can keep you safe.”

Tony sat in silence for a moment then shook his head. “I’m not leaving my family’s home. I can’t let him win that way.” Inside Steve roared, but he had to bite his tongue. He wanted to throw Tony over his shoulder and take him by force out of the tower. But he knew to do so would be against everything that mattered, would tear down the trust they’d built over these weeks, would ruin what they had built together in snuck away Wednesdays every other week and late at night text conversations. No. He was trapped here for as long as Tony was, but that didn’t mean they were helpless.

“So I help you free yourself.”

“Break the bond,” Tony could barely make out the words. “Either by forced, painful separation or….”

Death. 

“Whatever you decide,” Steve whispered. Tony was so close to him, he could feel the shared warmth their bodies created, he took a deep breath, letting their mixed scents calm him. “I don’t think he’ll let you go easily.”

“Me neither. But either way.”

“Will you let me help you Tony? When you confront him. Please _._ ”

Tony slid his hands out from under Steve’s then placed them over his, trading places. He gripped tightly. “Okay.” Tony nodded, the corners of his lips starting to flick up into a smile. “After all, how can I say no to the Star Spangled Man with a Plan?”

A laugh broke from Steve’s chest. He pulled Tony close and kissed him again.


	7. Chapter 7

The next two weeks felt like a dream. Every time Steve closed his eyes, he remembered the feel of Tony against him, the taste of him mixed with his honeyed scent, undeniable proof that Tony enjoyed this new aspect of their relationship just as much as Steve. 

He wanted to be rash. Never before did two weeks seem so much like a lifetime, every minute bringing him closer and reminding him how many more he had to suffer through. There were times he thought maybe he could sneak in, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if Stane turned the corner and came face to face with a nanomasked Steve. Some nights he played out the scenario, his dark and bloody fantasies a hidden secret between him and his bedroom ceiling. 

He promised he wouldn’t be rash. He promised Tony. So he counted the days, the minutes until it was Wednesday again. 

Steve knew something was wrong the moment he entered the tower. For one, no one replied to his secret knock. After repeating it for the third time, he switched to normal knocking, which was finally answered by a harangued-looking sous chef Steve had never seen before. The mask affixed to Steve's face bore a new identity than the last time he’d come, which was the usual course of events, along with the secret knock and his well-known accomplices. None of the faces in the kitchen looked familiar. 

Steve made an offhand excuse about a special delivery then rushed through the room, pushing open the swinging silver door and moving into the hallway. Chef Ana’s office was across the hall, the door slightly ajar but the light off. He pushed the door open. It was entirely empty of all her personal items; all that remained was an empty desk and bookcase, a pile of folders and an office plant. Steve moved to the folders and pushed aside the top one, on the top of the second one was a postit with three words on it:

_Ninety-First Floor._

It was a message for Steve, it had to be. The fine, fixed handwriting--it was Ana, leaving him a location. She was always the one to tell Steve where Tony was on their Wednesdays.

He’d never been to the ninety-first floor before--it was part of the private residence, Steve knew that much. He swallowed and crushed the post-it in his fist. A barrage of thoughts ran through his mind: Had Tony done it? Had he confronted Stane, even though he told Steve he’d wait, that he’d let Steve be there? It was Tony’s fight, but they'd agreed Tony wouldn't go alone to confront his horrific excuse of a bondmate. Steve’s mouth soured at the word, reminding Steve of Tony’s scent when he was distressed. 

Something was wrong. A part of him _knew_ that Tony was currently in distress. He played out the worst scenarios as he ran down the hall. If Tony had taken on Stane, face-to-face, and lost--There was nothing Steve put past that vile excuse for an alpha. He’d forced his marks on Tony, violated him, trapped him, subjugated him. He had no idea what Stane would do to Tony once he rebelled. 

A frigid shiver ran through Steve at the thought of Stane doing the absolute worst. Would he kill his own omega? It’d break their bond, and it didn’t seem like Stane wanted that. He’d known Tony his whole life, surely he cared somewhat--No. This wasn’t a rational man. There was no certainty for Steve here, only fear and an ache because Stane could kill Tony. His hands could fit around Tony’s slender neck, he could beat him to death, starve him, shove him off the balcony hundreds of stories high. 

Steve was spiraling; he had to grip the railing when he stumbled into the elevator, and even that didn’t stop his knees from buckling. All Tony’s friends within the Tower, Ana and probably Mr. Jarvis, too, were gone. What did it mean? 

The elevator doors opened, and Steve hated the sour scent that assaulted his nose, spiked with fear and soiled humanity, but it proved that Tony was still in fact alive. 

From deep in his throat, Steve roared; his eyes blurred and he kicked off the back of the elevator and sprinted down the hallway. There was no question as to where Tony was being held. He knew. His scent, his heart, his mind, it was all linked to Tony. At the end of the hall, the door was double enforced and tripled locked but it didn’t stand a chance against Steve. Not now, not when he was seething and single minded. It crashed open, right off the hinges. 

Darkness, just the light from the hallway behind Steve shined through the door frame; all he could see were shadows. He could still smell Tony and now he could hear him, whispering and sniffling and shouting, but not coming any nearer. Steve fumbled for a light, knocked his knee into a chair before he found it, pulling the string of a standing lamp which cast the room into a low light. 

Tony. 

The cage was barely big enough for a large dog. Crouched low, Tony's shoulders brushed the crisscrossing metal that formed the top. He was naked and filthy, caked with dirt and blood and in the corner of the cage was the source of most of the foul smell that filled the room. 

Steve’s eyes fixed on Tony but he wouldn’t look up to meet them, head hanging low, strands of clumped hair obscuring his face. There was a nasty bruise on the side of his torso, his hands were splayed on the ground before him, helping him stay crouched in the small space. Each of his nails were bloody like he’d spent a long time trying to claw himself out. 

Tony's shoulders shook, and Steve growled low and angry before breaking off into a whimper. “I should’ve come sooner,” was all he said before he was in front of the cage, ripping the side wall straight off and reaching a hand out for Tony. 

Except, Tony flinched and backed away. 

Steve immediately put up his hands and fell to his knees, attempting to appear as small and non-threatening as possible. “It’s me,” he whispered then tore off the mask he’d almost forgotten was still affixed to his face. He’d usually take it off, once he and Tony were somewhere private. Now, Tony flicked his gaze through his hanging fringe and stopped shaking at the sight of Steve, but didn’t move any closer. 

“Tony, how are--?” Every word died in his throat. Tony was obviously not okay, and it was obviously Stane who was the cause. “When?” Steve managed through gritted teeth.

Tony didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his words croaked out, as if he hadn’t used his voice in a long time--Or, the sinister thought cut in, that Tony had screamed himself hoarse. “About thirteen days ago.”

Steve swore and twisted the metal still clenched in his fist. “Because of me.”

“He saw,” Tony barely managed through a raspy breath. “The footage from the Tower security. He watched it all. Figured out our pattern. The mask didn’t matter.”

Steve’s stomach twisted. Stane had seen the library, the pool, the kitchen. It explained so horribly why Mr. Jarvis and Chef Ana were gone. In the footage, Stane would’ve seen it all. Steve wondered if he’d heard too, if the cameras had audio. Did he know that Tony wanted to leave him? It must have been obvious. Either way, it didn’t seem to matter much to Obadiah State what or who Tony wanted. 

They were still crouched in the remnants of the cage, Tony shaking again, completely naked in front of him. Steve whipped off his jacket and held it out towards Tony, but Tony didn’t move to take it. He just stayed frozen; the only movement he was made a continuous tremble. 

“Can I put this on you?” Steve asked, terrified to touch him, to see Tony flinch from him again. 

There was a long pause before Tony appeared to gather all of his strength through a shaky breath and nodded. Steve draped his zip up sweater around Tony's back and let it hang loose for him to close. Then he stepped away from the cage and started to pace around the room. It was mostly empty, though Steve noticed some plates of discarded food around the edges. Probably the remains of Tony’s meals. There was a closet that Steve pulled open and immediately wished he hadn’t. 

On its shelves weren’t towels and sheets or clothes, but instead an array of sex toys--dildos and cock rings, some items Steve didn’t even known the name of. On the top shelf was a pile of lingerie, different colors and fabrics, and Steve’s mind unhelpfully put Tony in each of them, providing a perverse display of Tony being forced by Stane to show them off. He growled again, and this time Tony’s sharp inhale came from closer behind him. 

He turned around to see that Tony had moved now and was standing in front of the cage with the sweater zipped up. It fell to the middle of his thighs, providing him with privacy and swallowing up his frame as he wrapped his arms around his waist. Steve felt a rush of warm relief, to see him standing, to see him clad in Steve’s clothes, to see his gaze raised enough to meet Steve's eye, even though it dropped away quickly. His legs were too thin, his collarbone sharp under the sweater. 

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not--You’re not the one who owes me that.” His words were harsher and harder--stronger--than Steve had hoped to hear. 

“You deserve to hear it nonetheless.” Steve stepped close, and Tony winced again, following it this time with a curse.

“It’s your scent,” Tony explained. “Your alpha scent. The sweater is one thing but--I know you’re not him. But a part of me is--I started to associate that deep, pungent scent with….” He broke off, brow furrowing.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me. Just tell me how to help.”

Tony took another deep breath, this one less shaky even though it looked like his knees might buckle under his weight. “Take me away from here. He’ll be back soon and when he sees that--” Tony gestured to the remains of the cage. “--it’d probably be enough.”

“Enough?”

“For him to kill me.”

Steve growled, and Tony mewled, skittering across the room. Steve clamped down on his throat, trying to control his natural response to Tony’s words. “No.”

“My sentiments.” The small smile that flickered across Tony’s bruised face felt like a victory, even as short lived as it was, flickering into a wince when Tony shifted again. 

“I’ll take you to my apartment--”

“No,” Tony broke in. “The scent.” Was all he said as an explanation.

“Right,” Steve didn’t need anything else. What Tony wanted, Tony would get. “A hotel then. I know of one near my apartment. Outside of Manhattan. He won’t be able to find us. I won’t let him.” Steve kept his words purposely vague in case Stane had cameras in here too. “Can you walk?”

Tony looked down at his legs, took a step forward then another, hardly steady but still moving. “I think so. If any security guards see us, though. They won’t let me leave. Not anymore, with Ana and Jarvis gone--” Tony broke off, voice breaking.

“We’ll find a way to reach them. It’ll be okay. For now--” Steve reached onto the ground and lifted the mask. Steve stepped close, into Tony’s personal space, and lifted it to his face. Tony didn’t flinch this time, but he did hold his breath as he raised his chin to signal for Steve to slip on the mask. They were so close, and Steve wanted to wrap him close, keep him safe in his arms and bring the world around him down in flames. He wanted to kill Obadiah Stane slowly, let him watch the pain Steve could inflict, one bruise for every one he’d ever painted on Tony’s skin. Make him bleed for every drop he’d made Tony spill. 

But Tony stood by his side trembling. He needed Steve, but not to help with vengeance or murder. He needed to escape. He slid an arm around Tony’s waist, and Tony leaned in close, a new, stranger's face covering his own. 

“Pants first,” Tony said, and they made their way slowly out into the hallway. Tony pointed to a room across the hall and they stumbled their way over. There was a fingerprint lock on the door, but Tony pressed his thumb to it. The doors slid open and the thick, alpha scent flew out. It was enough to make Tony whine and fall to his side, landing against the doorframe which he began to slide down. “I don’t know if I can--” he broke off, taking a shaky breath through his mouth. 

This was Obadiah Stane’s room. 

“I’ll go. Clothes in the closet?” 

Tony nodded. Once inside, the doors slid closed behind him, and Steve unclenched his teeth against a loud roar of anger. He didn’t even try to tamp it down; Tony was waiting outside and Tony wouldn’t see or smell the anger he soaked into Stane’s space. 

Steve didn’t need to hide anymore; they’d been caught. And now it was time for Stane to know who he was dealing with. He let his scent ooze into the room. Let him feel as violated as he made Tony, let him feel like his territory had been breached, and know that Tony was gone because of it. 

He followed Tony’s instructions into the back room where a cage very similar to the one he’d seen in the other room sat at the side of the bed. Steve saw red and tore it apart without ever making a conscious decision to move across the room. This monster of a man, this hideous imposter of an alpha kept Tony confined, constrained. Tony, who sparked such light, who laughed and lit up a room without doing anything more than explaining something his genius created - - something majestic. 

Stane never saw Tony as anything more than a fuck toy and now he’d never see Tony again, if Steve had any say about it.

Which he didn’t. Tony wasn’t his. 

The whimper that left his body made him grateful Tony had stayed in the hallway; the thought of Tony made his feet start moving. He rushed to the closet and continued his mission. 

Back out in the hallway, he handed Tony the clothes and watched him wince and hiss as he pulled on the sweatpants. Steve’s fists clenched as he walked around the man, providing him a bit of privacy by separating Tony from the hallway with his body. It wasn’t until he stood behind Tony that he saw the slashes across his back, thin lines but deep. Steve shuddered at what instrument could make that incision. 

“Tony,” Steve whispered, unable to hold back, all the horrors compounding and Tony was at the center of it. This would be bad enough, if it was a perfect stranger, an enemy even, but to Tony. To _Tony_. He may have whimpered again because Tony was spinning, brow furrowed and his eyes finally, finally lifting to meet Steve’s. They were hard, fixed and firmed, no light dancing in them any more, at least not now. Now there was steely determination, a resolution he’d made that he wasn’t going to be backing down. He looked powerful and empowered, but on the edges, in the corners of his eyes and the turn of his eyebrows there was the pain, the memory, a new sadness, a witness to things he had not seen before. 

Steve wondered if the cage was new, if things had been this bad before. A hot roar of guilt didn’t break free--this wasn’t about him or his guilt or his anger--but how could he have never asked? He saw, he guessed, he objected and planned with Tony. But he never knew for sure. 

If he had, would he have burned the Tower down to get to Stane?

His conscience wavered, flickered, turned his thoughts sour. Because he had known, had seen the bruises from that very first day. 

“Steve,” Tony’s voice, rough and crackling with pain, pulled Steve from his thoughts in an instant. “He’ll be back soon.”

Steve nodded, moved back and let Tony lead them to the elevator. He pressed the button not for the lobby but for the crew floor--the kitchens. “They aren’t--”

“I know.” Tony swallowed. “He made sure to tell me.” His smile twisted into something ugly. “But he’s still gone, it’s Wednesday after all.” The way he spat the word like it was something filthy broke apart something in Steve’s chest. Their Wednesdays, ruined, twisted, turned against Tony like everything else. “We should go through the alley.” Tony started to walk out of the elevator when the doors opened, only to have one of his knees give out. Steve moved quickly, grabbing Tony before he could fall. Tony turned a bit into him, and Steve’s breath caught. “I don’t think we’ll be taking public transit with me like this.” He straightened, but left an arm around Steve’s waist. “I maybe haven’t eaten since...Monday? Either.”

Steve had to take a breath to not clench his fist too hard around Tony’s too-thin waist. 

“You didn’t pick up flying, did you? Have that superpower and maybe you kept it on the downlow? Because flying, flying would be very nice right about now.”

“Unfortunately, not.” Steve led them toward the kitchen, slow but steady. 

“Damn. Gonna have to move up my flying car plans.” 

Steve pulled Tony closer. “Are you concussed?”

“Probably.” 

“Tony…” Steve broke off as he pushed in the kitchen doors. The mask was firmly on Tony’s face now and this new kitchen staff didn’t recognize Steve either, so they all turned to look suspiciously at them. That was until a man in the back by the sink took a big inhale and shot his eyes towards masked Tony, face pale like he _knew_ who Tony was. “Can you help us out in the alley?” Steve muttered quickly then moved Tony out the door, the pale-faced man following. 

With the three of them in the alley, the man started to look around, back over his shoulder, concerned, suspicious. Tony slipped off the mask.

“Tony!” Steve shouted. 

“What? He obviously knew who I was. The rest of them were betas inside. Right?”

The stranger nodded.

“Do you have a car?” Tony asked, apropos of nothing.

The man sputtered. “What?

“A. Car.” 

“Tony, what are you doing?”

“I have an idea.”

“I do,” the man replied. 

“If you drive us, you can have the mask. Pawn it. Keep it. Either way, you got yourself some high-tech, high-value property.”

“That's SHIELD's,” Steve reminded.

“And?"

“Yeah. Okay.” Steve had no intention of letting some SHIELD tech stand in the way of them and freedom. 

“Okay, I’ll take it. Where am I taking you?”

Tony looked to Steve, Steve looked back. “Brooklyn?” Steve asked Tony. 

“Brooklyn.”

The ride over the bridge was quiet and tense. It only got worse when their cook-turned-driver asked them where they were going once they got into Brooklyn. Steve wanted to get to the hotel as soon as possible, but he didn’t want the man to know where they were heading so he led him to a cross street near the hotel.

The man dropped them off at the curb and left with his new multi million dollar trinket, pulling away with a screech of his tires against the asphalt. Tony sat in the first armchair he saw while Steve went to inquire about vacancies. Luckily, no one asked questions, no one seemed to care. The benefits of New York City.

Closing their hotel room door behind them was like an echo of their alone-ness. They’d been by themselves dozens of times, but for some reason it felt different outside the shadow of the tower. 

~~~~

Tony sat in front of Steve, on the lid of their hotel room toilet. Steve’s sweater was fisted in his hands. 

Steve was supposed to be finding what passed for a first aid kit in their hotel room, but instead he’d frozen at the sight of Tony, the bare expanse of his back, beautiful olive skin marred by the gut-wrenching marks, still fresh and bloody. Back in that dark, horrible room, with that revolting cage, Tony had hid them. Through the frantic run to Stane’s room, Tony had been by his side and he’d barely had time to fully see. 

Now Steve could and he felt bile rise in his throat. 

Tony remained silent in front of him, but eventually he brought his gaze up, met Steve’s for a brief instant, before returning back to his broken and bloody hands. 

The movement was enough to jar Steve from his thoughts; Tony didn’t need his pity or his futile questions. He needed first aid. Bending down, he looked under the hotel sink, grateful to find a leather box with disinfectant wipes, bandages, and cotton swabs. There weren't any supplies for stitching, but the cuts on his back didn’t look thick enough to warrant it. Grabbing the wipes he turned back to Tony, who shifted without Steve even needing to say anything. His heart wrenched as he bent down, resisting the urge to brush his fingertips against Tony’s skin, offering a comfort not asked for and probably not desired, at least not right now. 

“Steve?” Tony asked, not moving and voice so soft it was barely like he spoke at all, but it was enough to remind Steve where they were and why.

“Are you ready?” Steve replied, his own voice barely above a whisper, like if they didn’t speak about it directly then they could pretend it wasn’t happening, that this was any other Wednesday. Tony looked over his shoulder, face closer than it had been since they last kissed and this time Tony didn’t drop his eye. 

“It’s pretty bad, huh?” Tony’s eyes started to shine with unshed tears and Steve watched him fight them, tuck it all away and give Steve a soft smile. 

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met,” Steve said because it was true, because here Tony was, fighting to keep himself upright and having the fortitude to try and send _Steve_ a reassuring smile, after everything. 

Tony snorted. “I’m literally sitting here broken in front of you.”

Steve reached out, a gentle finger against Tony’s chin. “But you’re not, though. Even when it would be so understandable if you were. It was inhumane how he treated you. But here you are, strong and whole.”

“I’m bleeding from multiple places and if you make a loud noise, I’ll probably jump in the shower or attack you. But if you say so.” He turned his back back to Steve, but didn’t stop talking. “Hate helps me stay upright. Obadiah Stane betrayed me and my family. He told my mother he’d look out for me, he---” Tony broke off. “I’m going to break this fucking bond.”

Steve let the declaration hang in the air, ripping the disinfectant wipe open and running it along the open flesh of his back. Tony hissed, and Steve paused, apologizing. 

“That’s rich.” Tony’s words dripped with disdain, but Steve knew it wasn’t directed at him. “You’re the last person that needs to apologize for anything that’s going on back there.” 

“I still don’t want to hurt you.”

A moment of silence but finally Tony whispered, “You aren’t. You’re helping me heal.” 


	8. Chapter 8

Steve opened the cabinet and pulled out two glasses, filling them with water from the kitchenette sink. As he walked by the sofa, he passed a glass to Tony where he lay on his stomach, back healing. The couch was occupied, and the only other place to sit was the bed. Steve put the glass down, wringing his hands before sitting on the very edge, of the far corner, on the foot of the bed. Steve had never been so aware of his scent, not wanting to mark any more of this new space with alpha scent than he needed to. 

“I should go get us supplies.” 

Tony looked towards him but couldn’t quite get his eyes to reach the bed from his position on the sofa. He made an affirmative noise in his throat. “And we--” He shifted, and Steve was about to protest but Tony held out a hand “--I’m fine. We need to make a plan, is all. With Obie.”

“He has no way of knowing where we are,” Steve assured, but his stomach still churned with unease. 

Tony shook his head. “He’s found me before--” Tony’s arm fell over the edge of the sofa and he knocked the floor with his knuckles. “I trusted the wrong person back then. He told his father where we were and that was enough…”

“That won’t happen this time.” Even as Steve said it, he knew there was no certainty. 

Tony sighed, jabbing his knuckles again. “We need to be prepared for it to happen.”

“You’re right.” 

Tony’s hand stopped punching. “Can’t remember if I’ve ever had any other alpha say that to me before.” He started hitting again. “It’ll be painful, but if we wait it out, if I don’t see him for long enough--”

“Tony.” Steve looked at his own hands where they were clenched in his lap. “You don’t know if you’ll survive that. Do you--Is that really what you want to do?”

“Steve, the only other option is killing him.”

Silence filled the hotel room. Steve knew that good and well, but he wasn’t going to talk Tony into causing more pain to fall on himself. Not for Stane. 

“First I need to heal,” Tony whispered, breaking the silence. 

Steve nodded, thinking. He needed to do something in the immediate. He wanted to strike multiple punching bags to a pulp first but he couldn’t waste the time; he needed to do something productive, something to help Tony. Steve stood and Tony craned his neck to see him. “I’ll go get supplies and run by SHIELD, see if they have any intel on Stane.”

Tony nodded, holding up a thumbs up. “I’m going to sleep, and then maybe devour a cheeseburger or five. Supplies was code for cheeseburgers, yeah?” 

Steve quirked a smile, stepping towards the couch. Steve watched for any sign of Tony tensing or flinching back from his scent or closeness, but neither happened. Tony looked thoroughly exhausted, strips of bandages wrapping along his back, tan skin tinged with bruising dotted throughout. Steve wanted to touch him, almost reaching out to, but then he realized Tony’s back wasn’t moving up and down in a steady rhythm. He was holding his breath. Steve stepped back, towards the door. “Sure,” he replied, unable to keep the soft affection from his tone and not really wanting to. “I’ll bring you all the cheeseburgers.” 

Tony sighed. “Wonderful.” He blinked long and heavy once, twice. “I’ll make sure to be conscious for them.” 

When Steve slid back in less than an hour later, Tony was still asleep, so he left the cheeseburgers on the table by the door and slipped back out, fixing the Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob. Adrenaline surged through him every time he thought of Stane, and he used it to propel him forward and move his feet towards the subway. The packed platform bustled around him, but Steve could only focus on the decision before him. One direction led to Stane--his hands felt the phantom urge of strangling around Stane’s neck, the tendons snapping under the force of his strength...It’d be so easy. The other direction led to SHIELD, intel and planning, time to strategize with Tony. 

He clenched his hands into fists and turned towards SHIELD. In the end, it was no decision at all, he promised Tony they’d wait, so they would wait.

SHIELD had set him up with an office when he first joined the organization. Steve found the sparse, white-walled space a general waste and had told Coulson as much; his place was on the field not in an office. But now, he was grateful. The office had a computer with a default password he’d never changed. It also connected directly to every file a Level 8 had access to. SHIELD had to have something on Stane, something they could use against him, something that he would want to keep private more than he wanted to keep Tony. Maybe if he willingly broke the bond--as much as blackmail was willing--Tony wouldn’t have to force a separation, they wouldn’t have to kill him. 

Steve ignored the part of him that was disappointed by that outcome and clicked open the shared drive. He searched for Obadiah Stane and hundreds of documents loaded. The first one dated back to SHIELD’s first contract with SI for modified assault rifles, with the most recent document mentioning a design SHIELD was, apparently, attempting to poach, called Jericho. 

There were no references of Tony in Stane’s documents, barely a mention of him in SHIELD’s files at all, though one bio Steve found had listed him as a potential asset. Steve wasn’t sure if that was good for Tony or not; Steve decided in that instant that he’d stand between the two if need be. 

He scrolled through the years, the decades, of documents and found nothing of use, but the search results seemed endless. Frustrated, Steve tried not to squeeze the mouse too hard. A knock on his door made him loosen his fingers before he left any lasting damage. “Come in,” he said, retracting his fingers from the mouse. 

“Good afternoon, Captain,” Coulson greeted in the doorway. His expression dropped into a frown when he took in the scene Steve made. “Problems?”

Steve cleared his throat and pasted on a smile, trying to mask his frustration. “You know me-- getting used to this machine.”

Coulson’s eyes narrowed. Steve knew the “modern world is very confusing” attitude would only work as a cover for so long, and he hoped he hadn’t passed its expiration date. 

“You’re not up for another mission.” Coulson didn’t have to ask, he knew Steve’s schedule, knew what he’d have to research on SHIELD’s behalf.

“No. Researching a private matter. Um--” he should have come up with an alibi but he’d always been quick on his feet. “Stark. Howard. I served with him, or, well, near him.” Steve forced himself to stop rambling. “I was wondering what happened to him. I keep hearing about SI on the news but not…”

“Howard, huh?” Coulson asked. “There’s been suspicious activity within SI the past few days…”

Shit. “Too many technological breakthroughs?” Steve tried to cover. 

That made Coulson’s lips press into a thin line, accompanying his narrowed eyes. “Some very _familiar_ tech, actually.”

Could he mean the nanomask? Steve didn’t let his eyes bug or hands shake even though he suddenly realized Coulson stood between him and the only exit. He tried to think of something other than the mask, something he’d read about in SHIELD’s files. “Jericho doesn’t seem like Howard--”

“Jericho, shmerico,” a voice said from beyond Coulson.

“Rumlow, how good to see you,” Coulson greeted, sounding anything but. He didn’t drop his gaze from Steve. 

“You should tell Fury we could send a SWAT team in there and gut the place. No private citizen, or corporation for that matter, should hold that much manpower.” Rumlow leaned against his doorway, sending Steve a toothy smile. “Don’t you think, Cap?”

“I’m not in the business of raiding private citizens,” Steve replied, even though he’d like nothing more than to raid Stane’s apartments--not for tech, but to make him pay for what he did to Tony. These two, though, did not need to know that. He tried to lead the conversations into the things he did need to know. “Stane seems to be running that company with a singular direction.”

Rumlow chuckled. “You’d think he’d just want to run his knot into that fine omega of his. Now there’s a perk of having the biggest missile in the game.”

Steve clenched his jaw against Tony’s defense, turning back at the computer because he couldn’t give himself away--but apparently Coulson didn’t seem to have much of an appetite for Rumlow’s crass claims either. He curled his lip in disgust. “Stane is an idiot who doesn’t know what he has with Tony Stark.”

Rumlow laughed, low and under his breath like he was in on a secret. “Saw them together once. Seems like he knew exactly how to treat his mouthy bitch--” 

The force of Steve’s grip broke his mouse which thankfully made Rumlow shut his mouth before Steve’s fist had to do the job. Under his anger was one bright line of information: They didn’t know that Tony was missing, even if things were off at SI, even if the nanomask had turned up, they didn’t know it had anything to do with Tony. 

Or, they were all just fishing for intel and not showing their own hand. Steve disliked subterfuge, it was much easier to punch the enemy in front of you than play chess with them behind their back. 

Rumlow’s gaze was on the phone in his hand, but Coulson had his eye on Steve, more precisely, Steve’s hand, still crushing into the mouse. 

Steve tried to shake the focus while also continuing the conversation. “A man like Stane, seems like he would have a lot of enemies of his own.”

“He does his best to stay on the legal side of the line in the sand,” Rumlow replied to his phone screen. 

“Marginally,” Coulson input under his breath.

“What do you mean?” Steve pressed. 

Coulson fixed him a stare, a beat of silence filling Steve’s office. “He likes to trade with nefarious actors.” 

“Who doesn’t?” Rumlow added, but Steve’s mind clung to the information. There had to be something there, something Tony could use against him to break from Stane. Something that would help. He thought of Tony, genius Tony who designed a nanomask in his free time. He’d know what to do with the information. 

The sun had set by the time Steve returned to the hotel. He thought about going to his apartment and calling Tony from there, but every stranger he passed, from the SHIELD offices to Brooklyn, he eyed with suspicion. There was the SHIELD driver who asked him too many questions when he dropped him off. There was the couple loitering with a cigarette outside the hotel, the concierge with a too friendly smile. All of them, at least in Steve’s mind, knew where Tony was, knew how to access him, knew how to get information back to Stane. 

But inside the hotel room, the worry didn’t cease. Tony was awake, cheeseburger debris strewn across the table but even after he’d knocked, Tony jumped when Steve opened the door, and sat on the bed with relief when he saw that it was Steve. His shoulders tensed again when Tony took a breath, the hotel air now mixing with Steve’s alpha scent. 

“Should I go, I--?”

“I said to come in. Didn’t I?” Tony snapped then winced. “Sorry. It’s just--”

“You don’t have to--”

“I want to--Fuck. Look.” Tony’s breath made his shoulders shake when he inhaled, deep and determined, before lifting his eyes and meeting Steve’s. “You told me that you were going after intel.” Tony gestured at the couch. “Stop hovering like one of us is going to snap. Yes, I’m not overly fond of alpha scent. Any alpha’s. But I’m capable of separating things in my head.”

Steve shuffled over to the couch, sitting on the edge as far from the bed as he could manage. Ever since he discovered Tony locked in the cage, he’d been running on adrenaline and fury. To have Tony turn away from his scent, so shortly after they’d come together...but it was neither of their faults. It was Stane’s. 

“What did you find out?” Tony asked, tone even, and Steve had to admire his bravery, throughout it all. Steve explained what Coulson said about illicit trade partners and suspicious activity around SI recently. 

“Probably the fact that a line cook is now walking around with tech that should not, on the record, exist yet,” Tony chimed in. 

“Among other things. Another SHIELD Agent joined the conversation, mentioning something called Jericho. It was in the files too.”

Tony snorted. “It’s a bomb, well a series of bombs. Stane had me--I helped sometimes, it meant I could be in the workshop and…” Tony trailed off and Steve didn’t press him. He looked so exhausted, despite his earlier nap, completely folding in on himself. He should let the man rest, go back to his apartment for the night, but he also wanted to watch over Tony. 

Tony moved without warning, standing from the bed and coming over towards Steve. He sat next to him on the sofa. Steve could hear him breathing through his mouth as he turned towards him. 

“You don’t have to--”

“Steve, shut up.” And then Tony leaned in, closing the space between them with a soft press of his lips against Steve. He pulled back after a second and sat back letting out his breath. “Yes, you still stink to high heaven.” Tony shot him a smirk, the first he’d seen since they left the Tower that reached his eyes. “So it’s a good thing I still think you’re pretty.”

A week passed. 

Steve followed up at SHIELD while Tony did his best to try and reach the Jarvises. Once, halfway through the week, Tony received an email from his Stark Industries inbox. A board member looking for him; Tony threw the phone across the hotel room and did not reply. It felt like Stane’s spies were everywhere, even if only that one person had contacted Tony directly.

Steve barely slept during the week. He split his days at the hotel and his apartment, feeling the entire time that when he was at one place, he should be in the other. His scent made Tony wince, but being far away made Steve panic. The war battled within him every night when Tony turned drowsy - he should go, give him space. He should stay, keep him safe. 

Every night, Tony had let him leave. But tonight when Steve pushed off from the couch, Tony’s hand wrapped around his wrist and he tugged him back to the sofa. 

“Stay.”


	9. Chapter 9

They sat side by side on the couch, and Steve must have been imagining things, because every time he refocused back on the TV, it was like Tony’s scent rushed under his nose in a distracting stream. There was still a tinge of sour around the edges, the healing process still evolving, but with every passing day, it was less tinged with fear and horror. 

Steve kept flickering a glance at Tony from the corner of his eye to see his reaction to Steve and his own scent, but every time Tony looked back, Steve refocused on the TV. 

The movie ended, slipped into another one, and though they commented on the plot, and made other small talk, neither of them mentioned Stane or their plan or what they were doing, or what would happen next. It was as if they both wanted to stay in the current moment, just for a little while. Steve didn’t want to rush Tony into any conversation he wasn’t ready for...But Tony was strong, brave, and maybe Steve didn’t need to tip-toe around him. 

When the credits started to roll, Tony turned to him with his lip fixed between his teeth. “Can I--? Nevermind, you--”

Steve might have replied with, “Yes,” before Tony even finished asking his question. A beautiful pink flushed Tony’s cheeks, and Steve felt a matching one cross his own. “Sorry, what were you going to say?”

Tony’s expression shuttered and Steve was about to apologize for causing some unnamed, unknown agony to twist Tony’s face, but he shook his head when Steve started to speak. “I…This is going to sound a little weird--Maybe it’s a completely invasive thing to ask--”

“I don’t mind, really. Anything, Tony.”

He looked up at Steve with wide, wet eyes like he actually needed to persuade Steve, like Steve wasn’t ready to give him anything he wanted. “I know it's been a week, so it may be psychosomatic but...I don’t want his scent on me,” Tony managed through gritted teeth, his eyes dropping midway through the confession. “There’s still traces and--” Steve started to shift back, move his scent away from Tony, but his hand on Steve’s arm stopped him. “I’ve been able to separate the alpha scents and, well, maybe if I’m--Could we--Would you…” He took a deep breath, then met Steve’s gaze with fixed determination. So, so brave. “I’m pretty sure if we stay close, the last of his scent will disappear. I was thinking maybe we could lay down on the bed and the blanket could capture enough scent that overnight it would be gone.” Tony swallowed hard, then grimaced around a smile. “I get it if it's weird.”

Steve’s breath caught, his brain hanging on Tony’s words and the images they provoked. Steve had wanted him in his arms for so long--but never had he imagined that these would be the circumstances that would lead to them sharing a bed. Another thing to hate Stane for, another growl he had to bite back. 

But it wasn’t hard to refocus his emotions when he thought about what Tony was asking for. The certainty that Tony would carry his scent, was  _ asking  _ to be scented by Steve. Though, circumstances had been the catalyst of Tony’s suggestion. Not his desire to be close to Steve. Steve swallowed hard, stomach twisting, then grimaced around a smile. “Whatever you need.”

It immediately turned awkward when they moved to the sides of the bed. Both of them hovered, knees knocking into the comforter. Steve took a deep breath and dove off the cliff, pulling back the side of the blanket and sliding in fully clothed with fortitude. 

Tony snorted. “Steve, at least take off your belt. Seriously. You don’t have to sleep here uncomfortably because I have an odd request. You don’t have to wear pants.”

Tony really had to stop talking about Steve taking off his clothes, because it was going to make sleeping in just his boxers that much more difficult. Then Tony started taking off his own pants and Steve faced the wall on instinct, turning his back to an undressing Tony. He listened to the shuffling of the blankets as he focused back on himself, pushing down his pants and toeing off his socks. He unbuttoned his shirt and then turned back in his boxers and undershirt. 

Their scents had already mixed into the room. The underlay of Stane still there--after nearly two weeks of what he put Tony through, it wouldn’t fade easily--but Tony appeared determined, and so was Steve. He slid into the bed. 

The sheets and comforter fell softly over his bare legs. Crisp and clean, they instantly created a cocoon of warmth between him and Tony. He laid on his back, eyes on the ceiling because if he even looked at Tony, he’d want to hold him close. He tried to remember if this was the most uncomfortable sleeping situation he’d had since the war. It was. 

Tony moved, shifting and curling on his side so that he faced Steve. Even through the dark, Steve could see Tony’s wide, brown eyes. “I’m sorry if this is making you uncomfortable.”

“It’s not,” Steve told the ceiling. 

Tony laughed, hollow and weak, into the empty space between them. “You can’t even look at me.”

“I’m trying to give you privacy.”

“I’m not asking for privacy. Trust me, I know this request is a complete overstepping and blurring lines. I like you, and...” Tony took a deep breath, and Steve turned onto his side facing Tony right in time to see him lick his lips. “That’s why I feel safe. I know you’re not him. He doesn’t even think I deserve privacy. You…” Tony’s hand came out from where it was tucked under the pillow, reaching across the too-small space between them to run a hand through Steve’s hair. Sparks under his scalp erupted at every spot they connected, and for a moment it was like the whole world existed under the sheets and comforter of their shared bed. 

Steve’s breath stopped short when Tony closed his eyes, remaining frozen with Tony’s hand gripping his hair as Tony leaned forward and brought their lips together. It was a soft press connecting them together, and Steve wanted to lean into it, open his mouth and taste what Tony was offering, what he’d wanted since the last time they kissed. The intoxicating taste of Tony could’ve taken him under. Instead, he rolled them so that he was on top of the other man, bringing them flush together from lips to toes. Steve wanted to roll his hips and feel the proof of how much Tony wanted him. He could smell it, the scents around them spicing up the room with honey and Tony opening under him, giving Steve the room to take more. 

Steve backed away. He wanted so much, but not like this, not when he was supposed to be helping. Tony’s eyes were still closed and his brow furrowed in a half a dozen lines before he smoothed his face and rolled away from Steve, never opening his eyes for Steve to see. 

“Goodnight,” Tony barely whispered the word into the silent room and it hit his heart with a bullet’s strength. 

“Tony--” He began, but cut himself off. Tony’s tense shoulders, the blanket pulled up to his chin, the way he wouldn’t even look at Steve. There was nothing else to say. Instead he took a deep breath and tried to calm his scent, tried to let it do its job, the one Tony had asked of him. He’d do what he could to wash away Obadiah Stane.

~~~

The next morning Steve woke to an empty bed. It, thankfully, lacked any scent of Stane or Steve’s sleep-hazy mind might have led him to rip the mattress itself to shreds. Their hotel room wasn’t large but there was enough room for a coffee maker next to the kitchenette sink, and Tony stood there staring into his cup of coffee. He faced away from Steve.

“Good morning.” Steve’s voice was rough with sleep, louder than he’d intended. Tony turned around, fixing Steve with tired eyes.

“Morning.”

Steve took a deep breath, watched Tony do the same without a flinch. “Guess it worked,” Steve offered. 

“Yup,” Tony said, tight lipped. “We won’t have to share again...unless you, well, problem solved so--” His voice broke, he looked away.

Steve stood, legs tangling in the sheets as he tried to walk forward, causing him to trip over the coffee table and break out into a string of curses before he landed on two feet, unsteady in front of Tony. His shin hurt but at least the whole debacle did wonders on Tony’s expression. Even though his eyes were still tired, his brows had shot up and his lips twisted into a surprised smile. Steve used it as motivation, barreling through to get his point out, because he couldn’t risk for one second Tony thinking he didn’t want him. 

“Tony I didn’t stop you last night because I didn’t want you. If anything, it’s exactly the opposite.”

“Oh.” Tony pressed his lips together, looking over Steve.

“I stopped you because you’re recovering. I wasn’t sure--”

“That I knew what I wanted?” Tony’s voice chilled. “Another alpha, ready to make my decisions for me.”

“Tony!” Steve’s stomach plummeted, unable to bear what Tony was saying. 

“I’m sorry,” Tony insisted then swore, fists clenching around his cup of coffee. “I didn’t mean to lash out, really. I know, I  _ know _ , you’re not like that. Fuck, you’re literally Captain America and--”

“Hey. No. You don’t have to apologize.”

“For that one, I should. It was a low blow.” He put the cup down on the kitchenette and dragged a hand through his hair. “I just want you, okay?” Tony stated. “And now that’s all tied up with  _ him _ and-- _ Fuck. _ The things I want...I’ve never wanted anything with him. So maybe…” Tony trailed off, lips pressing together.

“Maybe what?”

“Let me just have them?” he asked, voice low and cautious, like he’d never asked for anything he’d wanted before, like he was scared Steve would snap and reject him, or worse. “So long as you want them too. We can...without a hundred questions and a psychoanalysis. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Tony took a step closer. 

Steve took a matching one, closing the space between them. “Good.”

And then Tony lowered to his knees. At that moment Steve realized he was still in just his boxers and t-shirt and his body was quickly reacting to Tony on his knees before him. “What--?”

“Didn’t you hear me?” Tony asked, looking up at Steve from under his lashes.

“Yes.”

“So long as you want them too…?”

“Yes,” Steve barely whispered, and then Tony’s hand was on the elastic waist of his boxers. He didn’t move, just slid his fingers around the inside of the band, knuckles brushing against Steve’s skin. Steve’s body reacted, he couldn’t help it, and when Tony’s lips twisted into a satisfied smile, he no longer felt like holding back; he wanted to see where Tony would take them.

“I want this with you, from you.” Tony slid his hands around to the sides of his boxers, leaving a trail of heat in their wake that rippled down to the tent that had formed in his pants. Tony paused, waiting until Steve met his eye. The sight of Tony in front of him like this almost made him lose his last grasp on reality, but he held on tight by meeting Tony’s gaze. “You smell so good. Different. Down here.” 

A breath broke from Steve’s chest when Tony leaned forward and buried his face in the crevice of his leg, breathing in. “ _ Steve,” _ he moaned, and Steve broke. He wanted to touch Tony, wanted Tony to touch him. He fell to his knees and kissed Tony hard, arms wrapping around him and lifting, only stopping when Tony yelped. 

“What are you doing down here?” Tony laughed, tight with confusion. 

Steve held him close. “Is this something you want?” 

Tony started nodding before Steve even finished his question, and Steve shifted his arms around him so that when he stood, Tony was in his arms. In a few short strides they were back on the hotel bed, Tony unraveling his legs and Steve crawling between them. Tony’s lips were too tempting so he stole a deep, thorough kiss that left Tony winded, before moving onto his neck. Tony’s hands were on the move, pulling up his own shirt and letting long expanses of skin open to Steve’s touch. Every inch of him was soft, but it overlayed tight muscle and strength. 

There were still bruises, and Steve had to squeeze his eyes tight to keep from succumbing to his anger, instead he pressed a kiss to the purple-hued skin and continued his exploration. Tony wanted this, wanted him. 

Under him, Tony writhed, demanding, hips thrusting up into the open air. It was easy to see that Tony was just as affected as Steve, fabric stretching tight over his own arousal, scent pouring into the room, deepening from his slick. “I want to taste you.”

“Me too,” Tony gasped. 

“Come here.” Steve spun them until they were laying side by side, and then he moved again, flipping so that his mouth was temptingly close to Tony’s cock. Steve caught his gaze and smirked. “Now we can both taste at the same time.” Tony seemed to have no hesitation and the firm grip of his perfect hand wrapped around Steve’s cock and stroked through the fabric before he could finish his sentence. “Ahh--!” He broke off when the bottom of Tony’s palm pushed the boxers into the first stirring of his knot. 

Tony let out a breathy laugh. “And here I thought I was the genius.” 

Steve couldn’t feel more satisfied; except, he was immediately proven wrong when Tony tugged his boxers down just far enough for Steve’s cock to bounce against his awaiting open mouth. Tony slid his tongue out and licked under the head and Steve’s eyes rolled into the back of his head with pleasure. He recovered quickly, opening his eyes back up and pulling down the boxers in front of him. Next to him, Tony gasped, mouth pulling back from Steve’s cock. “I’ve never...no one has ever--For me…I’ve always been...”

Something struck Steve’s heart, made him run a hand soothingly up the inside of Tony’s thigh. “Can I?” he wanted to ask, wanted Tony to have this moment, to choose for once what happened to his body. 

“Yes,” he whispered out in a rough, husky breath, and Steve wrapped his lips around Tony, tasting his precome for the first time. The salty taste was so uniquely Tony, his pure honey-sweet arousal. Steve took a moment to memorize it before he let his tongue criss-cross over the tip, run under his head. Tony's divine scent was only enhanced by the taste, and Steve’s cock twitched in his hand. Steve savoured the taste, urging another bead of precome from the tip. 

Tony made tiny, surprised inhales that left Steve smiling from around his cock before sucking him down even further, and having the honor of hearing Tony’s noises grow into a full on shout.  _ “Steve!” _ His hand twisted and tightened around Steve’s cock, more in a reaction than anything intentional, presumably too distracted by Steve’s mouth. Steve loved every moment of it, giving Tony the sloppiest, most enthusiastic, determined blowjob he could, with every lick and stroke, he took Tony apart, let him hold on to Steve’s cock as hard as he wanted and experience selfish pleasure.

Steve rolled them so Tony’s back pressed into the bed, hovering his weight so he could swallow Tony's cock down deeper in his throat. He could smell the slick sliding between Tony’s legs and it spurred him on, made him suck more until Tony’s cock cut off his airway and all he could do was taste and swallow and listen to the string of whines and whimpers and gasps Tony made as he discovered what it was like to have touch be a gift instead of a curse. 

Steve breathed in through his nose and all he could smell was Tony, so close, so tempting. He pulled back, sucking deep as, inch by inch, Tony’s cock slipped from his mouth and into his awaiting hand, stroking and twisting around Tony’s cock as soon as it touched. When his lips hit the tip, he began a line of kisses down the side of the shaft, chasing the scent of Tony’s slick. His tongue slipped around Tony’s balls, pressing into the sensitive skin behind until his tongue slid over Tony’s hole and tasted his slick for the first time. 

The divine taste of Tony, the source of the honey that had been tempting him for months now, little hints of it so rare without the citrusy fear of Stane laced through, but no more. Steve had scented away the last trace of Stane--at his wholehearted request, something Stane never had and never would. Here, the taste and scent of Tony’s pleasure made Steve dizzy with the undeniable fact: they both wanted this, wanted each other. 

Tony squeezed Steve’s cock, hand catching on the knot he’d barely registered forming but as soon as Tony touched it he was nearly popped full. With the honeyed slick on his tongue and Tony’s palm pressing against his knot, Steve almost came in that instant. But he was determined to get Tony off first. 

Pulling back up, then sliding back down again, Steve took Tony's cock as far down his throat as he could and then he changed gears entirely, pulling back to bring one hand over Tony’s cock and the other lower, to trace over his balls and perineum. “Can I--”

“Yes!” Tony screamed with impatience, parting his legs to give Steve more access, his hand in a forgotten hold around Steve’s cock. “Yes, do it, all of it, yes.”

Steve chuckled, pressing a kiss against the tip of his cock and sliding his hand lightly over Tony’s ass, the skin softer than anything Steve ever imagined. He curled his fingers between Tony’s cheeks and spread them slowly apart until his dripping pink hole came into view, its rim twitching as another pulse of slick leaked out. Steve would’ve loved to take his time, but right now Tony wanted him to move, moaning at Steve to hurry, to touch him, to  _ please _ . And Steve moved closer, the rush of his scent nearly undoing him as he braced his weight on the bed with his elbow and pressed a finger against his hole, using his other hand to stroke down Tony's cock.

Tony’s whole body shuddered as his rim rippled around Steve’s finger, his cock pulsed under Steve’s hand, and Steve leaned forward just in time for a rush of Tony’s come to flood into his mouth. 

Steve’s body reacted, satisfaction and pleasure warring as he roared through his own orgasm, the taste of Tony on his tongue, the smell of their mixed scents around them, the feel of Tony’s pure pleasure sent him finally over the edge. Tony kept stroking him through it, even as he shivered from his own, the palm of his hand pressing into his knot and making Steve see white. Through the haze he heard Tony’s soft chuckle and heard soft murmurs about milking him, praising his knot, and Steve hummed, content. 

Still head to toe with Tony, his knot finally retreated and Steve collapsed, limbs draping over Tony as gently as he could manage. Tony let out a soft grunt but made no move to push him off. Instead, he ran his arms around his waist. “Wow,” Tony whispered after a moment, pressing a kiss against his thigh. “That was something else. And not just cause I feel like we just played a wild game of Twister. That was….”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, nuzzling his face into Tony’s thigh, letting the warmth in Tony’s voice lull him into a doze. “Let me know if I start crushing you.”

Tony only squeezed harder.


	10. Chapter 10

Steve woke to the shrill ringing of his cellphone and groaned, but he couldn’t be too upset when the first thing he realized was that Tony still slept in his arms. Without glancing away from the sleeping omega, Steve reached over for the phone to silence the call and set it to vibrate before flicking it open. Coulson. 

He glanced back down at Tony, his lips slightly parted against Steve’s chest, his heavy breathing warming Steve’s sleepshirt. He decided to press the text message button instead of moving from the bed to answer and risk waking Tony. 

<< Need me to come in?

>> No. Just leave me on read, Rogers. What I don't know, I won't have to lie about in court.

Odd. But before Steve could question it his phone was vibrating again. 

>> I do have things I think you need to know, based on certain observations. 

>> The previously discussed technology from a certain renowned company has been recovered. A person vital to, but powerless in, said technology’s creation, is missing. If said person's whereabouts are ever discovered, they’d probably be interested to know that certain formerly employed close friends can be reached at 555-9189. 

>> Understand?

Steve’s mind scrambled but it wasn’t hard to decipher Coulson’s message. The nanomask had been recovered--either because the Stark Tower cook had sold it or because they’d apprehended him. Steve was curious, but had no intention of asking over text messages. He might be new to this century, but he was more than familiar with the concept of intercepted messages. Coulson was also aware that Tony was missing. He somehow had the contact number of someone close to Tony. Of two someones. That could only be the Jarvises. 

The arm loosely wrapped around Tony tightened, holding him even closer to Steve’s side. It was time to wake him up and let him know, even if all he wanted was to give him a few extra moments of peace. 

>> Understood. 

He put the phone down and shook Tony’s shoulder gently, whispering at him to wake up. He had to press his lips together to hold back a chuckle when Tony’s face scrunched up, wrinkles forming around his nose and making him look decidedly bunny like. Then the rest of him started moving as well, legs stretching alongside Steve’s, running together under the thick comforter. Under its warmth, their scents had mingled into one, and Steve was tempted to give in, intertwined with Tony in a lazy, lovely morning. But Coulson’s texts weighed heavily on his mind. Steve bent his neck to press a quick kiss to Tony’s lips then pulled away and ran a hand through his hair, waiting for his eyes to open to speak. 

“Coulson texted me. They found the nanomask--”

Tony tensed, focus flicking to the hotel room door. “What does that mean?”

Steve shook his head. “I’m not entirely sure. Here.” He reached for his phone and handed it to Tony, letting him read the message to himself. At one point, he snorted and mumbled under his breath about how could he be vital if he was also powerless, but then he quieted to finish the rest. Steve knew when he did because he rolled away, taking with him his warmth but leaving behind his scent, and Steve realized he was already looking forward to the next time they’d get to sleep together like this. But now Tony sat on the side of the bed, face in his hands. 

Shifting on the bed, he wanted to reach for Tony but he was unsure if it’d be invited. Not knowing what to do, he got out of bed and went back to his phone then copied the number down onto a notepad the hotel provided on the nightstand with an accompanying pen.

On the other side of the bed, Tony stood and started pacing around the small living area of the room and when he turned to begin walking back towards the bed, Steve was there holding out the piece of paper. 

“Whoa--oh.” Tony took the paper. “Right.” He looked at the phone like a nemesis. 

“I thought you’d be…”

“Excited?” Tony provided, collapsing onto the sofa next to the couch. “Yeah. That’d be a normal reaction but--” Tony picked up the receiver, hung it up, picked it up again, in a seemingly endless cycle. “Maybe they’d want to hear--But I was nothing but a pseudo-boss to them.”

“That’s not true.” Steve took a step closer and sat down next to Tony. “You  _ know _ that’s not true. The Javises knew you your entire life, cared for you when you were young and long after you were grownup. Chef Ana...she treats you like you were her own son. You know this, Tony.”

“I’m the reason they lost their jobs. Their entire livelihood…” He stared at the phone like it held all the answers. 

“They won’t blame you.” Steve wanted to shake him, but he knew how deep Tony’s self-worth issues ran, knew he couldn’t see that the people that loved him, that cared for him his entire life wouldn’t see this forced separation as anything other than another layer of Stane’s abuse. “If you don’t believe me,” Steve began, intentionally letting the challenge dip into his words. “Call them and let them prove me wrong.”

Tony sighed, looking over his shoulder at Steve. “I know what you’re doing,” he said. “Trying to goad me into calling them.”

“Is it working?”

“A little.”

Steve chuckled, light and full of affection. It made the corners of Tony’s mouth perk up into a soft smile that Steve wanted to kiss just as softly, so he did. The smile Tony sent him when he pulled back radiated warmth into their tense, early morning conversation. “I’m going to go get us some breakfast,” Steve whispered against his lips before stepping back and moving to pull on his nearest pair of pants. “Give you some privacy, in case, you know, you decide to call them.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony replied, still smiling even as he turned and lifted the receiver back up to his ear. “So smug,” he mumbled under his breath, and Steve laughed as he walked out of their room. 

It wasn’t long, only twenty or so minutes, when he was pushing back open the door to find a very animated Tony still on the phone. He was explaining to someone--presumably Edwin or Ana--about the documentary they’d rented that week on the International Space Station. “Oh!” Tony interrupted himself. “Steve’s back--I know. Yes. I will. Okay, Ana.  _ Okay _ .” Tony laughed. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Tell Edwin bye for me.”

“You didn’t have to hang up on my account.”

“No, no, it’s fine. We’d gone through all the important bits.” 

He appeared happy, lighter, so Steve assumed the conversation went well. “Important bits?”

“Well, they had no idea how your friend Coulson found their number since it looks like they found shelter with Ana’s sister who is pretty much off the radar outside of the landline I called. I informed them that he was part of a shady pseudo-government agency. After we discussed how unsettling that information was, they told me, well--” Tony broke off, clearing his throat. 

“It’s okay--”

Tony held up a hand. “I know. Sorry. I’m just, it’s a lot. See…” Tony swallowed, but when he spoke his voice still sounded rough but wet, like he’d been crying recently. “My mom. She left them land. In Malibu, mom had old family money and apparently used it to buy a plot on the ocean. Which she bequeathed Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis.”

“Wow.”

“They want to give it to me.” 

Steve sat down on the desk chair. “That’s...wow. That’s a--”

“Legally, I can’t own it. Because I’m an omega, but they said they’d keep in name but give it to me, but...How does a piece of land a thousand miles away help if I can’t even get there? I’d live in a tent in California, if it meant putting an entire country between me and Obie. At least for now. But... the fact that they even have it. Ana and Edwin hinted that they think my mom gave it to them in case I needed it...Does that mean my mom knew all along that Obie was going to be--?” he broke off, snapping his lips shut. 

Something twisted in Steve’s heart for Tony, at the thought that the abuse he’d suffered had been prepared for, expected. The desire to help was overwhelming, to do anything he could to make it easier for Tony. Steve had resources, and Coulson seemed willing to help, even if vaguely and indirectly. It seemed like he knew everything that was going on around him and was managing it all, silently, from the sidelines. Coulson would help. If Tony wanted Steve’s assistance in this, he had to try. 

“I can get you to Malibu.” Steve said. “Get _us_ there, if you want that.” The thought of Tony so far away was like a hole in his heart, a punch in the gut. “I have connections, and people that can possibly help.”

“Coulson?”

Steve nodded. 

Tony squeezed his hands together. “If anyone could help, it's an organization like SHIELD, but--” His gaze dropped to his hands. “Ana and Edwin are one thing, they’ve been in my life since I was a child but. Malibu? I can’t ask that of you, Steve.” 

“You haven’t.”

“What’s--”

“If you’re about to ask me, ‘What’s in it for you’ you haven’t been paying attention these past few months.”

“Why? Steve I don’t get why you think I’m worth this. You’re practically saying you’d leave Brooklyn for me. After everything you’ve been through, I’d think you’d want to hold on to the city you’re from.”

Steve turned on the sofa and grabbed Tony’s hand. “Do you really believe that?”

Tony shrugged. “I know that you like me,” he whispered the fact like it was a confession.

“I do,” Steve confirmed, because he knew Tony enough to know he needed to hear it. 

“But to uproot your whole life--You say you want that, but how can you know?”

Steve placed his hands over Tony’s. “I’m still going to work. Still going to go on missions. But if, at the end of the day, I return to Malibu instead of Brooklyn, well, I’d be happy returning anywhere as long as you’re there.”

“You really mean that?” Tony pulled his hand back, clenched it with his other in his lap, closing off from Steve. “That’s pretty hard to believe without a bond, without your…” he swallowed--“claim on me. You’d still want to follow me?”

Steve heated at the words, at the images they created in his mind, but the Tony in front of him, their relationship, wasn’t ready for that right now. He was ready to be with Tony if he decided to run, to help him any way he could to rebuild a new life. Tony was strong, and Steve wanted to be there to witness what he knew would be a beautiful rebirth. “I don’t need to claim you to care about you. To want to be with you.”

“I want that too,” Tony whispered. He turned his hands so he could grasp Steve again, skin tingling with adrenaline from their touch. “You say these things and I hardly believe it. I can still hear him in my head, telling me I’m worthless, that all I’m good for is--Well, I imagine you can guess.” Tony winced but never dropped Steve’s gaze. “But you look at me like I matter, like I have value, and  _ fuck _ Steve, you almost make me believe it.”

“Good.” Steve tightened his hold on Tony’s hands. “He was the one telling lies. He was the one taking your gifts and controlling them, crushing then, but you shone through Tony, even when he tried to stamp you out.” Steve swallowed, because even as he spoke, he knew how he felt about Tony and it was time that he knew too. 

“Tony, I love you.”

Tony’s hands tightened to a hold that would’ve been uncomfortable if it weren’t for the superserum. It was like he’d jolted offline for a moment, but then the grip loosened and Steve watched him spark back to life, eyes dancing in the hotel light as he moved quick, sliding so that he straddled Steve’s lap. 

“Wha--?”

“I--” Tony beamed. “I love you too, and I love the words you say,” Tony declared before crashing their lips together. “I love how you taste, how you feel, I love--”

“What is it?” Steve asked, when he didn’t go on. There was a whirl of emotion warring inside Steve--Tony loved him. He loved Tony and Tony loved him, and he was in his arms, driving the warm feeling of reciprocated love into the hot rush of touch and desire and  _ more _ . 

Tony met his eyes, they’d turned dark and determined. “I want you to help me erase all of him. Inside and out.” 

Steve’s hands gripped Tony’s hips, and he’d been trying not to get swept away in the position they were sitting in, of how close Tony’s spread legs were to his own rapidly hardening cock, but at Tony’s words his breath caught. “Do you--Are you saying--?”

Tony leaned over so his lips were pressed against Steve’s ear. “I want you to knot me.” Steve buckled under him, leaning back to question him, but Tony was already shaking his head. “Don’t. If you don’t want to, that’s one thing, but don’t say no on my behalf.”

“Tony,” his voice sounded wet to his own ears despite his attempts to reign in his desire. “Of course I want to. I want everything with you. But--” Steve gasped as Tony rolled their hips together. 

“But?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” It was hard not to remember the library, after that test that Tony was forced to endure. The doctor’s artificial knot that had left Tony injured. 

Tony was already shaking his head. “I know that it will be different, that it will be  _ right _ with you.”

“How do you know?” Steve breathed out, trying to keep his body in check, to keep his focus on the conversation. “How can you be sure?”

“Because we both choose this.” Tony ground down his hips hard, as if to prove his point. “He never had me, not like this. Not in a way that was real. I’ve fantasized about this for weeks.”

“God, Tony,” Steve moaned, taking a deep breath and all he could scent was pleasure and desire, want and hope. There wasn’t a hint of sour citrusy despair or fear. Tony’s arousal, freely given, he lost all reason to refuse. 

Steve picked Tony up into a bridal carry, pressing his nose right into his scent gland as he carried Tony to the bed. “What do you want?” Steve whispered into their kiss. “What have you thought about in these fantasies?”

“You,” Tony gasped. 

“Yes. What else?” He let his mouth trail down Tony’s neck. 

“Riding--Riding you.” Steve moaned and it seemed to spur Tony on because when he continued it was with more confidence and a roll of his eyes up to Steve’s. “Your knot. How it would grow in me, fill me up. And your shoulders.” 

Steve chuckled against Tony’s clavicle. “What about my shoulders?”

“Grabbing onto them, as you bent me in half and fucked me hard.”

“Tony,” Steve gasped.

“Too much, big boy?”

“Never.”

“Too many clothes,” Tony nearly whined, pulling at Steve’s shirt, at his own pants. Steve pulled back and whipped his shirt over his head, and Tony’s hands found his chest, trailing down his stomach, before the shirt even cleared his head. Since he seemed preoccupied, Steve pulled at Tony’s own shirt, his only help being to sit up, hands leaving Steve only when they had to. As soon as the fabric cleared, Steve bent down and started at his chest, biting and licking at his nipples until Tony moaned and jerked his hips up to drag against Steve’s. 

“You should--” Steve broke off, swallowing down his rush of arousal and trying to focus on getting the words to come out even as they heated up his whole body with desire. “Ride me? Like your fantasy?” 

Tony shuddered, nodding, and pulling Steve down into a heated kiss. Instead of breaking apart, Steve held him closer and then braced his hips on either side of Tony so that he could flip them on the bed.

“Whoa.” Tony laughed, arms tightening around Steve’s neck, and something in Steve’s heart skipped a beat at the sound. “Superserum perks.”

Steve dipped his head, feeling a blush come on. “You don’t think it’s weird?” he asked Tony’s neck.

Tony answered by dragging his hard cock against Steve’s thigh. “What do you think?”

Relief mixed with his arousal, and Steve was surprised, because he hadn’t even realized it was something he’d been worried about, but Tony put him at ease anyway. “God, you feel so good on me,” Steve whispered, lips trailing from his neck up his jaw to brush against Tony’s lips. “You’re so smart and brave and strong.”

Tony chuckled, light and airy. “Shouldn’t you be saying I’m beautiful, gorgeous, sexy?”

“That too.” Steve nipped at his lips. “You’re so much. So perfect.”

Now it was Tony’s turn to blush, and he did it while he dropped Steve’s gaze, shifting uncomfortably. 

“What is it?”

Tony shook his head. “Just hard to believe. When you spent years hearing how worthless you are.”

Rage. Blinding red again. His hands tightened on Tony’s hips. 

“I don’t want to bring him in here,” Tony hissed, then dove back in and kissed Steve wildly. 

Steve let him, Steve gave his all to meet every wild press of his lips, bite of his teeth, swipe of his tongue. 

“Please,” Tony whispered, barely a word, as he tugged on Steve’s waistband. He didn’t need to be told twice, and when Steve moved to his, Tony leaned back on his heels and pushed his pants and underwear off in one determined swoop. Steve barely had time to take him all in before he was climbing back on top, their naked bodies dragging together, moans echoing through the hotel room. His knot was already starting to inflate, and when Tony dropped his hand to it, Steve keened.

“Steve,” Tony whispered. “You make me feel…”

Steve swallowed, opening eyes that had fallen shut with pleasure because he wanted to know the words Tony had trailed off. “What? How?”

Tony’s hand moved, just a little, and Steve’s body reacted with a twitch under him. “Like I’m smart.” His hand twisted, and Steve’s knot felt eager to meet the pressure. “And,” he swallowed. “Brave.” Another twist. “Strong.”

“Tony,” Steve gasped. “Please--” he cut himself off, wanting Tony to take his time, do this at his pace, but Tony’s eyes narrowed like he had other plans.

“Please, what?”

Steve shook his head, but Tony only tightened his grip. “Tell me what you want Steve. I want to hear it.”

Tony wanted. “Please, your hand. I--if you want more. Now--” he moaned again as Tony’s hand moved, pressed into the budding knot. “Now is a good time.”

“For what? Say it,” Tony whispered. 

“If you want my knot, I need to be in you. Now.” Steve felt desperate, trying to hold back, trying to focus. It was all slipping away, fast.

“Yes,” Tony hovered over his cock, gathering some of his slick and Steve almost lost it when Tony slid his slick covered hand down his length, their scents mixing together as Tony prepared him. Then he turned his hand and slid two fingers inside himself, scissoring quickly then pulling back out. “I want you so much, Steve,” he whispered and then he was lowering himself, taking inch after inch inside him until his rim hit Steve’s knot. It hadn’t fully inflated but it was nearly halfway there. Tony barely paused, just moaned and stretched and took Steve in until finally they were completely connected. 

For a moment, they were still. They held each other, breathing and adjusting to the feel of one another.

“Tony,” Steve whispered into Tony’s neck. “Are you--How do you feel?”

Tony shuddered in his lap, but otherwise remained still, letting their bodies adjust. Steve was grateful because with the way Tony moaned the word, “Fantastic,” and the tight, hot grip around his cock and knot, he was ready to go off at any moment. And he wanted this to last. 

He brought his face to Tony’s neck, licking and sucking his scent gland, Stane’s mark a faint bruise after days apart from the man. Steve relished its fading, hands tightening around Tony’s waist, and as his teeth ran over the skin, Tony moved. It was just an inch, barely anything, but it left them both gasping. Steve’s knot filled and formed, slotting into the space inside Tony that felt meant for him. 

“I’m so full.” The sinful words dropped from Tony’s lips. “God, Steve!” he rocked, the knot hitting a spot inside of Tony that made him moan. “I’d imagined how we’d fit together-- _ Fuck! _ ”

“Me too,” Steve whispered against Tony’s neck, up along his jaw. 

“Yeah?” Tony asked, hips still rocking but focused more on Steve’s face than he had been a moment ago. “And how does it compare?” 

A growl formed low and thick in his chest. “Could never have imagined--Ah! Tony,” he broke off when Tony started to ride him faster, lifting and falling as Steve spoke.

“Go on.” Tony smirked.

“You minx,” Steve said around a smile. “Don’t think I had the ability to imagine something like this--Your hips, I swear, Tony. Perfect. You feel perfect.”

Tony brushed their lips together again, deepening the kiss in rhythm with his hips. “You too. Your knot, Steve. It’s like it was meant for me.”

The possessive slip of Tony’s tongue made Steve lunge forward and kiss him again, hard and deep and taking everything Tony wanted to give him. “It is,” he whispered against Tony’s lips. “I want you to have me, any way you want.” He couldn’t help thrusting up into Tony, his steady pace causing heat to tingle and run through his body, heading him straight towards falling over the edge, and he wasn't ready, not yet, not with Tony still riding him, seeking every bit of pleasure he could take from Steve. He watched Tony ride, sweat mixing with his slick, and it was like his whole body shined in his arms, in his lap, under the hotel lights. 

“Mine,” Tony whispered, eyes closed and head thrown back. “You're mine.”

“Yes,” Steve replied, and Tony shuddered again, his whole body writhing as he tightened around Steve’s knot, gasping his slick body only took Steve deeper.

“Touch me.” The request came out like an order, and to hear Tony ask for it, want it--Steve’s hand moved without a thought, curling around Tony’s cock. He gasped, cock jerking as Steve stroked once, twice, and Tony was coming, spilling over his hand and tightening around his knot. Tony had wanted this, and he looked so magnificent in his pleasure. Steve followed over the edge at the sight, his knot holding them together long after the last pulse of pleasure was wrung from his body. Tony fell forward in his arms, teeth running against Steve’s neck, and now it was his turn to shudder. 

“I’d let you,” Steve whispered and Tony’s teeth stopped moving. “If you wanted, I’d let you claim me. I love you.”

Tony had frozen in his arms but he pulled back now, meeting Steve’s gaze, both of them gasping as the movement shifted their connection. “I love you, too,” Tony said, his finger tracing where a bond mark would rest. “You’re amazing.” His gaze didn’t leave Steve’s neck. “Yeah.” His voice sounded almost dreamlike, like he was imagining the picture Steve had conjured with his words. A smile formed on his lips, wistful, or maybe it was hopeful. “Maybe one day. Yeah. Maybe one day soon.”


	11. Chapter 11

Above Steve the day was bright, the sky blue. It reminded him of one of their last Wednesdays at the tower when Tony had convinced Steve to join him in the balcony pool. They’d grown so reckless, curious arms sliding against slick, wet skin. Tony’s contagious laugh had warmed Steve long after he’d left the sunshine. He turned the corner, and his nostalgia fueled grin slipped from his face as he skidded to a stop--day bright, sky blue, just like the first time he’d laid his eye on Tony. Exactly like that day when everything stuttered to a halt at the first sign of Obadiah Stane. 

This time, it wasn’t the sight of him yelling into a cell phone on the sidewalk, it wasn’t the way he snapped at Tony or radiated anger and aggression. It was his acrid scent, enraged and determined, reeking a line straight through the hotel lobby. 

He’d found them. 

Steve’s stomach dropped, mind racing through all the ways Stane might have discovered their location. Breaking into a run, Steve took the stairs unable to wait for the elevator. They’d destroyed all traceable electronics right down to Tony’s watch, and even the cook that had taken them to Brooklyn hadn’t seen where they went after they’d been dropped off. The nagging reminder, like a beacon in the back of his mind, that SHIELD had the nanomask now, and here was Stane--it had to be connected.

Fear rushed blood into his ears, the thumping heartbeat blurring out anything else, anything other than the need to get to their hotel room.

As soon as Stane had arrived at the hotel, he would have found Tony. It wasn’t hard to imagine him using his nose, just like Steve had done when he first went to the Tower. Steve had known Tony’s scent far less back then and still found him eventually. 

Anger balled Steve’s fists and the myths about alpha’s seeing red started to feel true because his clenched jaw was blurring everything, forcing it all into the exploding rage inside his mind, fixed on a singular person: Obadiah Stane. 

Steve slammed open the stairwell door and ran into the hallway. It only took two steps in before he was blasted with the sour scent of Tony’s fear. Then he heard the shouting. 

“--always been ungrateful”-- a muffled shout and Steve was halfway down the hall and he ran so fast he barely heard every other word. “I had...for you Tony... my legacy….genius...heirs.”

Steve roared, kicking the door open and trampled over where it fell in the hallway. Stane stood in the center of the room, twisting away from the bed to see who had just interrupted his tirade. It pained Steve to move his focus from his intended target, but he needed to find Tony, see with his own eyes that he was okay, even more. His gaze dropped to the bed. Tony lay back on his elbows, frozen where Stane loomed over him. His eyes were wide and scared and around one of them formed a ring of reddened purple. The first signs of a black eye. 

Tony looked passed Stane towards Steve, cheeks wet with tears but once he focused on Steve his eyes blazed to life. Stane turned his back on Tony, so he could face Steve. “You,” Stane growled, stepping closer and knocking his chin back as he surveyed Steve through the most superior gaze. 

Steve wanted to lunge across the room and gauge out the man’s eyes with his thumbs--it wasn’t something he’d ever done before but to feel the satisfying crunch under his fingers--Steve’s fingers twitched at the thought.

Except this wasn’t Steve’s fight. It never was, and it wouldn’t be until Tony tapped him into it. And right now all Steve could tell from the situation was that Tony wanted him to keep distracting Stane far more than he wanted him to strangle him. Because on the bed, Tony moved silently to his knees.

Stane’s spat at Steve. “So you’re the man--the alpha--that thought he could take what’s mine right out from under me.” Shifting his weight, Stane crossed his arms over his chest. “Well let me tell you, kid, you messed with the wrong--” 

Stane underestimated Tony. Always had. And now it proved to be his fatal flaw. On the bed Tony moved, kicking the bottom of his foot out long, and colliding it into the center of Stane’s back. The man hadn’t expected it, because he’d never consider Tony’s agency, the autonomy of the omega he’d enslaved for years. 

Watching Stane’s eyes widen in surprise set off a surge of pride within Steve. As if in slow motion, the kick pushed out Stane’s chest and knocked him off his feet. He fell forward, face first into the coffee table. Stane groaned as the wood shook under his weight and toppled to the side, taking him with it. Tony jumped from the bed and took a step towards Steve, and Stane kicked his leg out, trying to trip him to the floor.

Steve bared his teeth and moved. Allowing Stane to gain any advantage, let alone the upper hand--Steve was unwilling to let that happen. This was Tony’s fight, but there was only so much Steve could take. Tony dodged Stane’s kick and turned onto him, practically crawling over Stane’s side, still laying by the coffee table, in an attempt to wrap his hands around his neck. 

Stane appeared to have other plans, he grabbed Tony’s wrists before they made it to his neck, and sneered. “Unruly whore. Bet you let him do whatever he wanted with your slut holes. This room reeks of everything you two did together. It’s well within my rights to--” 

Steve saw red; he’d heard enough from Obadiah Stane. He stepped forward and grabbed Tony around the waist, pulling him back to his side. Stane sputtered, momentarily confused then he shuffled quickly to his feet, wide eyes crazed with panic. Stane pushed back his suit jacket and slid a gun from a holster on his belt. 

Before he even finished aiming it at Tony, Steve was in the line of fire. 

Stane growled. “You’d really let me shoot you for this used up, mouthy, piece of ass? He probably charmed you with promises of riches and his wet cunt, but look what he’ll go and do as soon as he gets a chance. He’ll run.” 

Steve pointedly ignored Stane and spoke instead over his shoulder to Tony. “I’m going to disarm him but I’ll leave the rest up to you.” 

Tony nodded, and without any finesse or care, Steve advanced, lightning quick, snapping Stane’s wrist until the gun fell into Steve’s waiting hand. Stane’s face turned red with pain, grunting and hissing every vile word he could seemingly think of. “You think he wants you, boy?” Stane snapped at Tony. “You think he cares about you? He’s using you, just like I used you, just like anyone who's ever met you has ever done, will ever do. Because no one cares about you. They just care about what you can give them, what they can take from you. You’re--”

Steve froze under the harsh abuse, momentarily overcome by how quickly and fiercely Stane tried to bring Tony down. But next to him, it was as if Tony came to life. A roared, “No,” ripped from his lungs and he surged forward, hands outstretched. “You’re wrong, Obie!” he shouted right into the man's face. “You know _nothing_. Not about him, about us, about me.” His hands reached for Stane and he pushed him back hard. Stane keened backwards, tumbling down to the floor and hitting the side of his head with the corner of the toppled coffee table. The crack echoing around the hotel room. 

Blood pooled under Stane’s head, neither of them moved. 

It was Tony stumbling backwards with a whispered curse that startled Steve back into action. In two strides he was by Tony’s side and wrapping his arms around him. The blood soaked into the carpet; Steve clenched Tony tighter to his side and reached over to Stane's still body, feeling for a pulse.

"Nothing," Steve whispered. Neither of them spoke for a long moment. 

Then a deep breath rattled Tony's frame. "He's gone."

“Yes.”

“I’m….free.” The tight edges to his tone betrayed the shock he was slipping into. Steve turned him away from Stane, ducking his head so all Tony could see were Steve’s eyes. 

“You are. You won.”

“We won,” Tony whispered right before his knees buckled. 

“Tony!” Steve lowered too, mind racing at possible solutions and he grabbed at the first one that he thought of. Fishing out his phone, he pressed the number to Phil Coulson and opened up their text messages. One handedly he used it to send Coulson their location and two words: _Come alone._

With arms back around Tony, his own voice muttered assurances Tony hadn’t asked for into the silent hotel room. Steve shifted them just enough so he could peer at Tony, whose wide eyes fixed on absolutely nothing. They’d won, but here was the cost of that victory right in front of Steve. Tony had killed a man. It was in self-defense and, in Steve’s opinion, more than justified. None of that meant Tony wouldn’t carry the memories of taking a life with him for the rest of his own. 

He squeezed Tony closer, and it made the man squeak, so Steve loosened his grip. The movement had been enough to break Tony’s thoughts, but instead of saying a word, Tony chose to hold Steve tighter and bury his head in his chest. 

The corpse continued to stare up to the ceiling. Steve knew he could’ve killed Stane easily, he could’ve kept this burden from Tony. But the man in his arms--his strength was evident in each long breath he took, with each rise and fall of his shoulders under Steve’s hold--completely alive. By killing Stane, Tony had reclaimed his life.

Even without the hordes of SHIELD agents, Steve still growled when Coulson knocked on the door. He was paralyzed by the thought of moving from Tony to go and open it. Tony--brave, beautiful, strong-- Tony, pulled away from Steve to go open it. Steve followed, unable to keep him out of arm's reach. 

They ushered him in and Coulson didn’t even blink at Stane’s corpse, instead he turned and greeted Tony with an outstretched hand. A pang shot through Steve when Tony stopped, flicking his gaze at Stane, the alpha that used to control who he met and associated with, now dead. Confusion, fear, hope, a countless number of emotions painted Tony’s expression, adrift for the first time without someone to tell him what to do. 

He didn’t look at Steve when his gaze left Stane. Instead he took a steadying breath and slid his hand into Coulson’s, introducing himself.


	12. Chapter 12

Tony remembered it perfectly, that first day of the rest of his life. Obadiah had been shouting into his cellphone, Tony’s neck sore and stinging with every swallow. He tried so often back then to float away from his own reality, and sometimes Stane’s penchant for asphyxiation only helped with that goal. Sometimes, back then, when everything was mood swings and dodging blows, it was the only escape he could find. That day, those had been his thoughts as he and Obadiah came to a stop on the New York sidewalk and Tony approached the window display full of perfectly tailored suits. 

Breaking through the reflection, a face appeared across the window. It was a man, frozen mid stride and focused on Tony. A nameless stranger with neatly combed hair, eyes cutting right across the busy street and fixing onto Tony. An alpha, but wearing an expression that Tony had never seen cross an alpha’s face before. There was no lascivious desire or blatant attraction. On this alpha’s face there was only concern. 

Tony considered the reflection as he looked over the suits, as Obadiah continued to shout into his phone. He’d wondered if this new alpha understood or cared that an expression like his would get him into hot water; when it came to a bonded omega, concern wasn’t the responsibility of an unmated alpha. Tony wondered if this stranger cared, or if he was too alpha to consider himself vulnerable to weakness, vulnerable to Obadiah Stane.

Steve had turned so many of Tony’s norms onto their heads, after he walked across the street and into Tony’s life. 

Now, what felt like a lifetime and a second later, the ocean breeze whipped Tony’s hair. It was stronger here, along the cliff's edge as it came off from the muted waves below. The machinery and construction equipment were louder, as a group of men lifted a window into what would soon be a living room sliding glass door. His living room, his home. 

Steve’s face cut across the window’s reflection, and he met Tony’s gaze. Tony held his eyes until Steve lowered his own, taking a deep breath and asking the question Tony had expected but still clenched his jaw against: “Last chance. Are you sure you don’t want to divide the lot into three homes?”

Tony turned away from the window pane. Today was the day of no return, soon the Malibu lot would only fit a home for the Jarvises and one for him and Steve. “I’ve told you how many times now?”

Steve pressed his lips together, a faint blush brushing his cheeks and looking more abashed than Tony had ever seen him. He was the only alpha Tony had ever seen abashed at all, but it certainly was a good look on Steve. Instead of answering Tony’s question, Steve, predictably, apologized. “I know. It’s not my place to question your decision.”

Tony stepped closer to Steve, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Question, away.” He lifted on his toes and pressed their lips together in a brief kiss. “Just make sure you listen, when I give an answer.” Tony winked to soften what he knew was a firm tone. 

“You’re right.” Steve leaned in and gave Tony a kiss of his own. It felt as if Steve had meant to keep it brief but Tony had other plans, pulling himself closer so he could step on the tips of his toes and deepen the kiss. He knew there were people around, that it wasn’t particularly modest or polite, their scents mixing and deepening as they tasted one another, but Tony let himself indulge, take what Steve was offering, because he could, and he wanted to. 

It was Steve who broke the kiss, looking far more dazed than when he’d started it. Tony, satisfied, dropped back on his heels, letting his smugness show. 

“Should tell you, ‘you’re right’ all the time, if that’s the reaction I’ll get.” Steve’s gaze danced with flirtation, their scents fluttering around them, sweet happiness mixing with honey dewed love.

“You should tell me I’m right all the time, because I undoubtedly will be,” Tony countered with a grin; under it, almost like a placeholder, was the impulse to flinch following his reply. But then he remembered where he was, when he was, who he was with... and he let it go into the wind, over the cliff, to be carried out to sea by the waves. 

With every day that passed, every day away from Stane, away from New York, he learned that the average alpha was more like Steve than Stane, even if sometimes that fact twisted at Tony even more--made him think that maybe there was something about him, something that made him less than, more susceptible or deserving or--

The wind picked up, and Tony shook his head and took a deep breath, pushing back from the abyss of his mind and back into Steve’s arms along the cliff's edge, thousands of miles away from New York and everything Stane had exposed him to. Stark Industries was his and his alone. Being run by a proxy that Coulson arranged for him, and he and Steve had vetted. For now, Pepper Potts would act in the interest of Tony, and Tony alone. And Tony was here in Steve’s arms. 

“I want to live with you,” Tony said, again. 

“Okay. I want to live with you, too.”

“Good.” 

~~~

A month into construction and living in a motorhome, Tony’s patience was wearing thin. It wasn’t that Steve was meticulously neat or that he was messy. He didn’t leave dirty towels on the floor or a thousand cups of water around, like Tony had a penchant for doing. No, it was that for weeks, any time Steve wanted to ask Tony to do some chore, he only managed after long bouts of hemming and hawing. He never complained about Tony, never made requests even when Tony knew his music was going too loud or that he’d forgotten, again, to move the laundry into the dryer. 

Steve spent weeks walking on eggshells around Tony and it was driving Tony up the motorhome walls. 

This morning it was Steve versus the stack of books Tony had left on the sole surface they used as a desk, a dining table, a blueprints station, and a shield cleaner. The stack of books had been on the table for about three days, and they both knew Tony had finished reading them after the first one. 

Tony watched Steve watch the books. It wasn’t a test. Tests were unhealthy and problematic, Tony had just intentionally forgotten because he wanted to see if Steve would actually do anything other than twitch at the sight of them.

He didn’t. 

This time when Steve walked by the table, his eye landed on the books then slid to the bookshelf, before dropping to the ground and sending them into a long, endless silence. Until, Tony snapped. 

“Just tell me to put away the books, Steve! Or to do my dishes, or to--I don’t know--you never say what  _ you _ want for dinner or the fact that sometimes I take extremely long showers in our too small shower and use up all the hot water--fuck, I sound like a horrible roommate and boyfriend, but that’s completely besides the point.”

Steve had stopped frozen midstride. “Um.” His hand dropped to the books. “What? Did you want me to put these away.” 

Tony growled. “No!” 

“I’m confused.”

Tony took a deep breath. Then another. Steve’s familiar scent interlaced with the linger of the sickly sweet smell of Steve’s confusion. 

“You never yell at me.” His gaze dropped from Tony’s but he didn’t say anything so Tony continued. “We never fight. Or disagree at all. Those books, they bother you.”

He waited now for Steve to reply. After a moment he shrugged. “We have a bookcase.” 

Tony lifted his eyebrow. Waiting, if even it was like pulling teeth. “And?”

Steve sighed. “I know what you’re doing.” 

“And?”

“Oh my--” Steve let out a breath and looked at the ceiling of their motorhome with exasperation. Annoyance prickled at the edges of Steve’s expression, with clenched teeth, and narrowing eyes. Tony felt the first stirrings of victory. “Can you  _ please _ put--” Steve’s volume rose as he emphasized each word, “away the books!” he shouted the rest, and Tony never thought he’d been grinning out of actual joy from making an alpha yell, but here they were.

Tony practically skipped across the few steps between them and placed a kiss on Steve’s lips. Then, because he was feeling like he’d just scored a victory, he boldly brought his lips down from Steve’s to trace along his neck, right over the spot they had decided Tony’s bond bite would live one day. A moan slipped from Steve’s lips and Tony pulled away with a smile. 

“Why yes, I can put away the books. I’ll try and remember to do so more regularly.” 

Slipping away, Tony moved to the bookshelf. Steve started to speak before cutting himself off, then starting again. “Well. Since we agreed we’d discuss what bothered...” Steve began, gesturing his head to the bin. “The trash. You said it’d be your chore and you’ve done it maybe...once?” 

Tony’s eyes flew to the overflowing bin. He honestly hadn’t even noticed it. A laugh bubbled in his chest, because before their house was even built yet, here they were, living together and working together, growing together. 

“I’ll get right on that, babe.”

~~~

Their footsteps echoed off the tile, nothing in the stairwell to absorb their sounds. They still had to search for the light switches every time they walked into another empty room, but with Steve’s hand in his, Tony tugged him down to where he had been holed up for the last week. Their first week in the apartment, Tony would feel guilt for not spending more of it with Steve, but Steve kept encouraging him to spend as much time as he wanted down here, and Tony took him on his word. 

There were no uncertainties with Steve, no traps to fall down or twists waiting to lead Tony into trouble. In their place was Steve’s support over honest to god paper newspapers at the breakfast table, or a loving glance as he set up an easel and watercolors to capture the sunset over the Pacific. Surprises now meant Steve coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around his chest, or joining Tony downstairs with a plate of sandwiches, as Tony worked to put together this place, this idea he’d once had and never thought he’d be able to actualize. He pushed open the doors and led Steve into his workshop. 

_ His  _ workshop. 

Here, no one needed to look for light switches because Tony had already fixed the room to expect that he’d need the lights on. 

“Nifty,” Steve commented. 

“First room of many to get the Tony touch.” 

Steve caught Tony’s eye over his shoulder as he walked further into the workshop. “And here I thought I got all your touches.”

“Oh, shush.” There was no reason for Tony to be blushing at such a cheesy line so he was going to ignore entirely that he was. “Let me give you a tour.” Tony tugged at his hand, passing a couple empty workstations and heading to the far corner. They stopped in front of what looked to be a smooth, empty, white wall. Steve turned to him with a lifted eyebrow. 

“I know, it’s amazing, right?” Tony teased. He then reached past Steve and pressed a button that’d been built into the wall. In front of them the wall split in pieces and pulled apart, flipping into showcases and rows of storage. “I thought you could put your shield there.” Tony pointed to a slot he’d designed specifically for that purpose. “And over there, that case should completely sterilize and repair your Cap uniform, if I coded it right, which I’m sure I did, so it will, and over there, there’s room for plenty of weapons, and in the back all the items you brought over from my dad’s collection and--”

Steve stepped around, blocking the space between Tony and the space he’d created for Captain America’s gear. “You made me a--What was it? A Bat Cave?” 

Tony swayed on his feet, a spark of embarrassment building because this was a bit much, and also an assumption that Steve would even want to keep his stuff down here, but all his doubts were quickly quashed by Steve’s expression--happy, appreciative, and if Tony detected correctly, slightly awed. 

“Yup. If you want it, that is--”

“Of course I do. This is wonderful.” Steve turned to look at the other side of the workshop, where a similar wall existed. Nothing got past Steve. And this idea that had been brewing in Tony’s mind, he knew it was something he wanted to share with Steve. No better time like the present. 

Tony slid out a StarkPad he’d augmented and pressed a couple buttons until it showed the blueprints he’d been sketching over the last few months, since he’d met Steve and he started to wonder if maybe there was more to his future than a life of captivity. It was a suit of armor that would let him fly higher than any man, be stronger than any alpha. He’d always wondered, if maybe with his father’s arc reactor technology… and now Tony had the time to tinker. 

Tony enhanced his blueprints of the suit’s design and flicked his finger until they projected onto the empty, white wall across from them, large and imposing and perfect. Tony took a step forward, reaching out to touch the image, even though he knew his hand would split right through the projection. 

Soon, it would be solid metal, Tony knew. He turned to look at Steve. His future in front of him, all around him, in every decision he made. 

“I’m going to call him Iron Man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter! Thank you so much to everyone who liked, commented, bookmarked and loved on this fic. It has been an absolute joy to share it with you. Thank you so much for reading! Come say hi over on [Tumblr](http://ashes0909.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ashes0909fic)


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